XXII. RETURN OF THE ROYAL FAMILY FROM VARENNES…

XXII. RETURN OF THE ROYAL FAMILY FROM VARENNES

Proclamation of Marat.--Three Commissioners sent to meet the King.--Address to the Nation from the Assembly.--The slow and painful Return.--Conversation between Barnave and the Queen.--Brutality of Pétion.--Sufferings of the Royal Family.--Reception of the King in Paris.--Conduct of the Queen.--Noble Avowal of La Fayette.--Statement of the King.--Menace of Bouillé.

Almost immediately after the flight of the king the club of the Jacobins became the most formidable power in France. It embraced all the desperate and the reckless advocates of reform. Marat, one of its most popular and energetic members, the morning after the flight of the king, issued the following proclamation to the populace of Paris:[279]

"People! behold the loyalty, the honor, the religion of kings. Remember Henry III. and the Duke of Guise. At the same table with his enemy did Henry receive the sacrament, and swear on the same altar eternal friendship. Scarcely had he quit the table than he distributed poniards to his followers, summoned the duke to his cabinet, and there saw him fall, pierced with wounds. Trust then to the oaths of princes!

"On the morning of the 19th, Louis XVI. laughed at his oath and enjoyed beforehand the alarm his flight would cause you. The Austrian woman has seduced La Fayette. Louis XVI., disguised in a priest's robe, fled with the dauphin, his wife, his brother, and all the family. He now laughs at the folly of the Parisians, and will soon swim in their blood. Citizens! this escape has been long prepared by the traitors of the National Assembly. You are on the brink of ruin; hasten to provide for your safety. Instantly choose a dictator. Let your choice fall upon the citizen who has, up to the present, displayed most zeal, activity, and intelligence, and do all he bids you to do to strike at your foes. This is the time to lop off the heads of Bailly, La Fayette, and all the scoundrels of the staff, all the traitors of the Assembly. A tribune, a military tribune, or you are lost without hope."

Similar impassioned appeals were issued from all the Jacobin journals, and the nation was roused to phrensy. The popularity of the king was now gone, and he was almost universally regarded as a traitor, plotting to deluge the kingdom in blood.

At ten o'clock in the evening of the 22d of June a courier arrived in Paris with a letter from the municipality of Varennes announcing the arrest of the king. The cry resounded from street to street, "He is arrested! he is arrested!" Three commissioners were immediately appointed, Latour Maubourg, Pétion, and Barnave, invested with authority to secure the return of the king and the royal family, and they were enjoined to observe all the respect due to their rank. The Assembly also issued an address to the French nation, containing the following sentiments:

"The king swore, on the 14th of July, to protect the Constitution; he has therefore consented to perjure himself. The changes made in the Constitution of the kingdom are attributed to a few of the factious. We are twenty-six millions of factious. We have preserved the monarchy because we believe it useful to France. We have doubtless reformed it, but it was to save it from its abuses and its excesses. We have granted the yearly sum of fifty millions of francs ($10,000,000) to maintain the legitimate splendor of the throne. We have reserved to ourselves the right of declaring war, because we would not that the blood of the people should belong to the ministers.[280] Frenchmen, all is organized. Every man is at his post. The Assembly watches over all. You have naught to fear save from yourselves, should your just emotion lead you to commit any violence or disorders. The people who seek to be free should remain unmoved in great crises.

"Behold Paris, and imitate the example of the capital. All goes on as usual. The tyrants will be deceived. Before they can bend France beneath their yoke, the whole nation must be annihilated. Should despotism venture to attempt it, it will be vanquished; or even though it triumph, it will triumph over naught but ruins."

Let us now return to Varennes, and accompany the royal family on their melancholy route to Paris. We left the royal carriages, under the escort of the National Guard, just starting from Varennes on their return. It was eight o'clock in the morning. The progress toward Chalons was slow, for the carriages could only keep pace with the guards. The heat was intense, and clouds of dust almost suffocated the captives. For a time emotions were too deep for utterance, and not a word was spoken. But often torrents of abuse fell upon the ears of the king from the crowds who seemed to line the way. At times the crowd was so dense that with some difficulty the guards forced their way through. But for the protection of their bayonets, the whole royal family would probably have fallen victims to the popular fury.

The commissioners from the Assembly met the carriages between Dormans and Epernay, and immediately assumed the command of the troops, and took the royal family under their charge. The whole populace, excited as it was, respected the orders of the Assembly. Latour Maubourg, a gentleman of noble character and an intimate friend of La Fayette, was ardently attached to the Constitution, while at the same time he was anxious to save the monarchy. The tendencies of both of his colleagues were to a more radical democracy. Hoping to excite their sympathy in behalf of fallen greatness, he yielded to his companions the honor of being with the royal family in their carriage, while he took the second coach, with Madame de Tourzel and some other ladies of the party. Barnave and Pétion entered the king's carriage to share his danger and to shield him from insult. Barnave sat on the back seat, between the king and the queen. Pétion sat in front, between Maria Theresa, the daughter of the king, and Madame Elizabeth, his sister. The little dauphin, seven years of age, sat on the lap now of one, then of another.

Barnave was a young lawyer of distinguished abilities and generous impulses. He was a man of polished manners, of attractive person, and of accomplished education. His generous heart was saddened by the pitiable condition of his captives. He did every thing he could, by kindness and respectful attentions, to mitigate their woe. An obnoxious priest at one time approached the carriage with an ostentatious demonstration of his attachment to the court party, now threatening France with invasion. The exasperated people fell upon him, and he would probably have been massacred but for the energetic interposition of Barnave.

"Frenchmen!" he exclaimed, "will you, a nation of brave men, become a nation of murderers?"

He would have sprung out of the carriage to have rescued the priest had not Madame Elizabeth, who had already appreciated his noble character, held him in by the skirt of his coat. She feared that he also, now almost their sole defender, might be torn in pieces. At first the queen sat closely veiled and maintained unbroken silence. But gradually the character of Barnave won the esteem of the whole party. The king entered calmly into conversation with Barnave upon the momentous questions of the day. Barnave replied with courtesy and sympathy, though still faithful in his devotion to liberty and sincere in his advocacy of a constitutional throne. The queen, much mollified, at length withdrew her veil and gradually became social and almost confiding.

Barnave spoke of the great mistakes which the Royalists had made in refusing to accept a constitutional monarchy, thus exposing the throne to entire overthrow and the nation to democratic anarchy.

"What were the means," inquired the queen, "which you would have advised me to resort to?"

"Popularity, madam," was the reply.

"But how," continued the queen, "could I have obtained popularity? It was all taken from me."

"Ah, madam," said Barnave, "it was much easier for you to conquer it than for me to obtain it."[281]

The queen subsequently remarked to Madame Campan that Barnave "was a young man full of intelligence and noble sentiments, and one every way worthy to inspire esteem. A feeling of pride," she continued, with candor which honors her memory, "has caused him to applaud all that tends to smooth the way to honors and glory for the class in which he was born. If power should ever again fall into our hands the pardon of Barnave is written before in our hearts."

The royal family only occasionally alighted for a moment at an inn as the horses were being changed. By day and by night they continued their slow progress, taking all their refreshments in the carriage. Barnave, with that delicacy which is instinctive in noble natures, never for a moment forgot the rank of his august captives. Being pressed by the queen to take some refreshment, he replied,

"Madam, the deputies of the National Assembly, under circumstances so solemn, ought to trouble your majesty solely with their mission, and by no means with their wants."

Pétion was a very different character. He was one of those coarse and vulgar demagogues who have done so much to cast dishonor upon the word democracy. His brutality disgusted the whole party. Equality of rights was with him but social insolence. He affected a rude familiarity with the royal family, munching his food like a boor and throwing the rind of fruit and the bones of fowls out of the window, at the risk of hitting the king in the face. The king made a slight attempt, by introducing conversation with him, to awaken some sympathy.

"It was my wish," said the king, "to increase the force of the executive power. I did not think that this constitutional act could be maintained without more power being placed in the hands of the sovereign, since France does not wish to be a republic."

"Not yet, to be sure," Pétion brutally replied; "the French are not yet quite ripe enough for a republic."

No more conversation was held with Pétion. The movement of the carriages, encumbered by the escort and the immense crowds who thronged the way, was very slow. Four days were occupied in the return. It was seven o'clock in the evening of the 25th when the long procession entered Paris. As the carriages approached the suburbs the crowd increased in density. It had been a day of intense heat. The blaze of the sun, reflected by the pavements and by the bayonets which surrounded the carriage, was almost intolerable. The carriages were continually enveloped in a dense cloud of dust. The inmates panted for breath and were bathed in perspiration. One of the children suffered so much that the queen, alarmed, appealed to the compassion of the crowd.

"See, gentlemen," she said, letting down one of the windows, "in what a state my poor children are; one is choking."

A brutal wretch exclaimed, in an under tone, "We will soon choke you, after another fashion."

Generally the crowd looked on in amazement and silence. Feelings of pity and humanity triumphed over indignation. Great eagerness was of course manifested to catch a sight of the king and queen, but well-armed guards on horseback surrounded the carriages. La Fayette came out of the city to meet the cortège at a few miles distance and to assume the command. Apprehensive of violence from the infuriate populace of Paris, if the immense cortège, now numbering nearly three hundred thousand and rapidly increasing, were to pass through the narrow streets of the city, the carriages were ordered to take a circuit and enter by the broad avenue of the Elysian Fields, which conducted directly to the Tuileries. As an additional precaution he placed troops in a deep line on both sides of the avenue from the Barrier de l'Etoile to the palace.

It was resolved that the king should be received in silence, without applause and without abuse. Placards were posted every where with the laconic announcement,

"Whoever applauds the king shall be flogged; whoever insults him shall be hanged."[282]

The procession now entered the city amid the clashing of sabres, the trampling of horses, and the confused, suppressed murmurs of half a million of men. It was another sublime act in that most terrible tragedy of time. It can not be described; it can not be fully conceived; it has never been paralleled.

The crowd-encompassed, dust-enveloped carriages entered the city at the close of one of the most lovely of June afternoons. The cloudless sun, still an hour above the horizon, shone brilliantly upon the spectacle, gilding steeples and domes as with rejoicing light. The whole military array of Paris, horsemen, artillery, and infantry, lined that majestic avenue. Behind them the whole population of Paris seemed to flood the field, filling windows, balconies, house-tops, steeples, trees, and every point of observation.

La Fayette and his staff first made their appearance as the vast procession commenced its entrance. A numerous cavalcade of mounted guards then succeeded. These were followed by the two royal carriages, each drawn by six horses, and surrounded by dragoons whose sabres gleamed in the rays of the setting sun. Several regiments of artillery and infantry, in compact order, ensued, and then came a motley mass of three hundred thousand stragglers, men, women, and children, whom the strange event had gathered from all the suburbs of the metropolis.

Almost perfect silence reigned. It was like a procession of the shades of the departed in the spirit land. There was no ringing of bells, no explosion of cannon, no plaudits of the multitude, no bursts of martial bands in requiems or jubilata. The king, humiliated, sunk back in his carriage, and concealed himself as far as possible from observation. The bayonets of the soldiers held in check the ferocious and brutal wretches who would gladly have assailed the monarch with execrations. The same power closed the lips of the Royalists, who would have greeted their sovereign with applause.

Thousands gazed upon the scene in silent sympathy, with their eyes bathed in tears. They loved the cause of constitutional liberty; they wept over the infatuation and folly of the king. The reception was sublime in its appropriateness. No honors were conferred upon the king, for surely he deserved none. No abuse assailed him, for that would but have degraded those who offered it.

The crowd grew more and more dense as the carriages entered the garden of the Tuileries, and the way became so obstructed by the throng that it was with no little difficulty that a passage was secured. As soon as the carriages arrived at the door of the palace, near the end of the terrace, the royal family alighted and passed through a double file of the National Guard drawn up for their protection. In this hour of misfortune, those who had been most hostile to the despotism of the court vied with each other in their endeavors to protect fallen royalty from indignities. The Viscount of Noailles, a warm friend of reform, and a humane, magnanimous man, approached the queen, who was the last to alight from the carriage, and offered her his arm to conduct her into the palace. The queen, with imprudent but perhaps pardonable pride, haughtily rejected the aid of the friend of the people, and, seeing one of the partisans of the court near by, asked his arm.

The hall of the Assembly, since destroyed, looked out upon the garden of the Tuileries. The excitement of the hour suspended the sitting, but it was immediately resumed when the king had safely entered the palace. The king seemed perfectly calm. La Fayette, with profound respect and with his sympathies most deeply moved, presented himself at the king's apartment, and, making no allusion to the unprecedented scene which had transpired, said, "Has your majesty any orders to give me?"

"It appears to me," replied the king with a smile, "that I am much more under your orders than you are under mine." The conduct of the queen in this trying hour was peculiarly unfortunate. The royal family then needed every friend it could win. But the queen, losing the control of her passions, seemed to bid defiance to all who were not the partisans of the court, and endeavored to gratify her resentment in goading those she deemed her foes by those taunts of action which are even more exasperating than words.

Assuming that La Fayette was her jailer, she approached that noble patriot, who was willing to shed the last drop of his blood to save her from indignities, and handed him the keys of her trunks. La Fayette, wounded by conduct so ungenerous, and commiserating the condition of the queen, bowed, refusing to receive them, and, in tones saddened by pity and sorrow, declared that no one would think of interfering with her private property.

The unhappy queen so far forgot herself as peevishly to throw the keys into La Fayette's hat, which was upon the table. This was the conduct of a spoiled child. Such was Marie Antoinette. It was this spirit which accelerated her passage to the scaffold. The compassion of La Fayette triumphed over resentment. Overlooking the insult, he calmly replied,

"Madam, you must pardon me the trouble I give you in returning these keys. I certainly can not touch them."

"Well, then," replied the queen, pettishly, "I shall find other persons less scrupulous than you are."[283]

Such conduct on the part of the queen was ever adding to her unpopularity. The king was much more considerate. Though by no means equal to the queen in energy, he had a far more comprehensive view of the real attitude of affairs. Had the spirit of the queen been dominant, it is possible that the Revolution in its infancy might have been crushed with an iron hand. All the disciplined armies of Europe were ready to fall upon the unorganized and unarmed populace of France, and to chastise them into submission. Had the moderate and humane spirit of the king prevailed, the Constitution might have been accepted; the king might have been revered and beloved as a constitutional monarch, and France might have passed from despotism to free institutions without bloodshed. But the discordant union of the defiant energies of the one and the yielding moderation of the other rendered ruin inevitable.

The king entered into a brief conversation with La Fayette, in which the devoted patriot said to his monarch,

"Your majesty is well aware of my attachment to your royal person, but at the same time, you were not ignorant that, if you separated yourself from the cause of the people, I should side with the people."

"This is true," replied the king. "You follow your principles. And I tell you frankly that until lately I had believed you had surrounded me by a turbulent faction of persons of your own way of thinking, but that yours was not the real opinion of France. I have learned during my journey that I was deceived, and that the general wish is in accordance with your views."

The conduct of the Assembly in this momentous crisis, when the liberties of France were so fearfully imperiled, was firm and noble. On the day of the king's return they passed decrees suspending him from his functions, until they should have heard, through a committee of three, the declarations of the king and queen. With that delicacy which had ever, thus far, characterized the action of the Assembly, these decrees were passed in terms of studied decorum, and the king and queen were shielded from answering before the whole Assembly, which would have been required of any offenders of less exalted rank. A guard was placed over the royal family, and was made responsible for its safe custody.[284]

Barnave, covered with the dust of his journey, hastened to the Assembly, and gave the official announcement of the return of the king. Both the king and the queen had learned to repose great confidence in this noble young man, and Barnave assisted the king in composing the declaration to be presented to the commissioners of the Assembly in extenuation of his flight.[285] The king could hardly have expected that the assertions which he made in this document could be credited by the Assembly. "Never was it my intention," said he, "to leave the kingdom. I had no concert either with foreign powers, or with my relatives, or with any of the French emigrants. I had selected Montmedy, because, being near the frontiers, I should have been better able to oppose every kind of invasion of France, had a disposition been shown to attempt any. One of my principal motives for quitting Paris was to set at rest the argument of my non-freedom, which was likely to furnish occasion for disturbances."

He concluded this declaration in words characteristic of his whole course. "I have ascertained during my journey that public opinion is decidedly in favor of the Constitution. I did not conceive that I could fully judge of this public opinion in Paris. As soon as I had ascertained the general will, I hesitated not, as I have never hesitated, to make a sacrifice of every thing that is personal to me. I will gladly forget all the crosses that I have experienced, if I can but ensure the peace and felicity of the nation."[286]

Thus the king pledged himself anew to support the Constitution. The Assembly received these asseverations in respectful silence, though it was no longer possible for them to give the king credit for sincerity. While the king was thus apologizing, Bouillé, who had fled to the protection of foreign armies, sent a menacing letter to the Assembly, in the name of the allied sovereigns of Europe, containing the following declarations:

"I know your means of defense," he wrote. "They are nothing; and your chastisement shall be an example to other people. Listen to the words of a man who regards you and your people but with indignation and horror. I know the roads. I will guide the foreign armies which will assail you. There shall not rest one stone upon another in Paris, if you dare to touch a hair of the head of my king."[287]

If Bouillé had wished to provoke the nation to throw down the head of the king as a gauntlet of defiance to the foes of the liberties of France, he could have done nothing more effectual than the utterance of such a menace. Both parties were now preparing vigorously for war. The emigrants at Coblentz, proclaiming that the king was a prisoner, and could no longer have any will of his own, declared monsieur the king's elder brother (Louis XVIII.) to be Regent of France. The most vigorous measures were adopted for accumulating troops and munitions of war for the great invasion.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 279: Marat, who edited "The Friend of the People," was, says Lamartine, "the fury of the Revolution. He had the clumsy tumblings of the brute in his thought and its gnashings of teeth in his style. His journal smelt of blood in every line."--History of the Girondists, vol. i., p. 115.]

[Footnote 280: The Constitution conferred upon the king and the Assembly the right of making peace and war. The king complained bitterly that he was no longer authorized alone to declare war and make peace.]

[Footnote 281: Mémoires de Madame de Campan, t. ii., p. 150.]

[Footnote 282: "Quiconque applaudira le roi sera bâttonné; quiconque l'insultera sera pendu."]

[Footnote 283: La Fayette's Memoirs.]

[Footnote 284: Robespierre was opposed to this act of special respect, and exclaimed,

"What means this obsequious exception? Do you fear to degrade royalty by handing over the king and queen to ordinary tribunals? A citizen, a citoyenne, any man, any dignity, however elevated, can never be degraded by the law."]

[Footnote 285: Thiers, vol. i., p. 185.]

[Footnote 286: Even Lamartine says, "The king addressed to the commissioners of the Assembly a reply, the bad faith of which called for the smile rather than the indulgence of his enemies."--Lamartine's Hist. of the Girondists, vol. i., p. 105.

"The Assembly accepted the declaration of the king, although it was evident to them that the king did not intend merely to go to Montmedy, where no preparations had been made to receive him, but that he intended to go to the magnificent monastery of Orval, three leagues beyond the frontier, in Luxembourg, then occupied by the Austrians. Troops, commanded by the Prince of Condé, were there awaiting his arrival. The flight of the king was the signal for the loyalist officers to desert. All those of a regiment in garrison at Dunkirk fled to the Austrians, carrying with them the banners of the regiment."--Hist. de la Rev. Française, par Villiaumé.]

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XXIII. COMMOTION IN PARIS

The Remains of Voltaire removed to the Pantheon.--Decision of the Assembly on the Flight of the King.--Thomas Paine.--Views of the Constitutional Monarchists.--Message from La Fayette to the King of Austria.--The Jacobins summon the Populace to the Field of Mars.--Mandate of the Jacobins.--The Crowd on the Field of Mars dispersed by the Military.--Completion of the Constitution.--Remarkable Conversation of Napoleon.--The King formally accepts the Constitution.--Great, but transient, Popularity of the Royal Family.

In the midst of these stormy scenes the Assembly voted to remove the remains of Voltaire, which had slumbered for thirteen years in the obscure abbey of Scellières in Champagne, to the Pantheon in Paris. On the 11th of July his coffin was received with great pomp at the barriers, and conducted to a pedestal on the ancient site of the Bastille, constructed from one of the foundation-stones of the fortress. Voltaire had once been imprisoned in that gloomy citadel. Upon the pedestal which supported the coffin were engraved the words,

"Receive on this spot, where despotism once fettered thee, the honors decreed thee by thy country."

The next day a brilliant sun invited the whole population of Paris to the fête. The car which bore the coffin to the Pantheon was drawn by twelve white horses, harnessed four abreast. They were very richly caparisoned, and led by postillions in antique attire. An immense body of cavalry headed the procession. The wail of requiems and the roar of muffled drums blended with the booming of minute guns from the adjacent heights. The sarcophagus was preceded, surrounded, and followed by the National Assembly, the municipal authorities of the city, and by deputations from all the illustrious and dignified bodies of France. Scholars, laborers, artists, and, conspicuously, all the actors and actresses of Paris, took part in the pageant. Arches, with garlands of leaves and wreaths of roses, spanned the streets. Groups of beautiful girls, dressed in white, carpeted the path with flowers. At intervals, bands of music were placed, saluting the car as it approached with bursts of melody. Before each of the principal theatres the procession stopped, and a hymn was sung in commemoration of the achievements of the great dramatist. It was ten o'clock at night before the immense procession reached the Pantheon. The coffin was deposited between those of Descartes and Mirabeau.

It was the pen of Voltaire which overthrew despotism in France. It was also the pen of Voltaire which banished for so long from human hearts thoughts of God and of future responsibility. Thus then sprung up, in the place of the despotism he had overthrown, another despotism a thousand fold more terrible. With consummate genius and utter destitution of all moral principle, he was the demon of destruction, sweeping the good and the bad alike into indiscriminate ruin. He could fawn upon the infamous Frederic, and palliate his vices. He was ever ready to bow the knee to the paramours of Louis XV. There was no prostitution of genius which could cause him to blush. The venomous spirit with which he pursued the religion of Christ is fully expressed by his motto, "Crush the wretch." The genius of Voltaire induced France to attempt to establish liberty without religion. The terrific result will probably dissuade from any future repetition of that experiment.

The club of the Jacobins was greatly roused by the moderation of the Assembly, and began to clamor for the entire overthrow of the monarchy and the establishment of a republic. On the evening of the 15th of July a meeting of the club was held at which four thousand persons were present. It was a scene of wild enthusiasm. La Fayette, Barnave, and others who were in favor of a constitutional monarchy were denounced as traitors. Robespierre and Danton were the orators of the evening, and they were greeted with thunders of applause. A petition was sent to the Assembly, which assumed the tone of an order, demanding that the king should be deposed as a perfidious traitor to his oaths. It was a meeting of the mob virtually repudiating the Assembly, and assuming for itself both legislative and executive power. The tumultuous gathering was not dispersed until after midnight. Here originated that spirit of lawless violence which subsequently transformed Paris into a field of blood.

On the 16th the commissioners made their report to the Assembly on the flight of the king. Both the commissioners and the Assembly were disposed to be lenient. They were already very anxious in view of popular tumult and menacing anarchy. They had still no wish to overthrow the monarchy and establish a republic. Such a measure would be full of danger to France in its distracted state, and would exasperate a thousand fold the surrounding monarchies. There was no one for whom they wished to exchange their present king. He was the legitimate monarch, which gave him vast power over all the aristocracy of Europe. He had sworn to defend the Constitution, and it was so manifestly for his interest now to consent to be a constitutional monarch that it was hoped that he would sincerely accept that popular cause which would secure for him popular support. Though no one doubted that it had been the intention of the vacillating monarch to throw himself into the midst of foreign armies, and by the aid of their artillery and swords to force the Old Régime again upon France, a very generous report, exculpating the king from blame, was presented and adopted.

Influenced by these views, it was argued that the king had committed no crime. He surely had a right, if he wished, to take a journey to Montmedy. There was no proof that he intended any thing more, he had violated no law. The Assembly therefore decreed that "in the journey there was nothing culpable."[288]

The Jacobin press now became very bold. "No more king," exclaimed Brissot in the Patriot; "let us be Republicans. Such is the cry at the Palais Royal, and it does not gain ground fast enough."

"No king! no protector! no regent!" shouted Fauchet in the Bouche de Fer (the Mouth of Iron).

An address was read to the Jacobin Club openly demanding the annihilation of royalty; and though this address was received at first with murmurs--for the majority, even of the Jacobins, were not then prepared for such a step--the new doctrine with marvelous rapidity spread through the lower orders of Paris, and very speedily gained the ascendency in the club. Danton mounted the tribune of the Jacobin Club on the 23d of June, and demanded the forfeiture of the throne. "Your king," said he, "is either a knave or an idiot. If we must have one of the two, who would not prefer the latter?"

The Jacobin Club had now become very formidable. It already numbered eighteen hundred members in Paris alone, each of whom was admitted to its meetings by a ticket. Two hundred and fifty affiliated clubs were scattered throughout the principal cities. It occupied the large chapel of the Convent, and had its president, its secretaries, its tribune, its regular order of business, and its journal, in which its debates and resolutions were published. Many of the ablest members of the Assembly were members of the club, and their most powerful efforts of eloquence were addressed to the club, regarding its voice as beginning to be more potent than that of the Assembly. The Jacobin Club was rapidly becoming the great power of the kingdom, with an excitable mob ever at its disposal as its military arm.

The Journal of the Jacobins, edited by Laclos, a confidant of the Duke of Orleans, overwhelmed the monarch with a torrent of insults and objurgations. Thomas Paine, the notorious reviler of Christianity, was then in Paris, and one of the most violent of the Jacobin Club. He wrote an inflammatory address, which was posted on all the walls of Paris, urging the peremptory dethronement of the king.

The views entertained by La Fayette and the Constitutional Monarchists can not be better conveyed than in the eloquent language of Barnave, in a speech addressed to the Assembly on this occasion.

"I will not dilate," said he, "on the advantages of monarchical government. You have proved your conviction by establishing it in your country. Some men, whose motives I shall not impugn, seeking for examples to adduce, have found in America a people occupying a vast territory with a scanty population, nowhere surrounded by very powerful neighbors, having forests for their boundaries, and having for customs the feelings of a new race, and who are wholly ignorant of those factitious passions and impulses which effect revolutions of government. They have seen a republican government established in that land, and have thence drawn the conclusion that a similar government was suitable for us.

"But if it be true that in our territory there is a vast population; that we have a multitude of men exclusively devoted to those intellectual speculations which excite ambition and the love of fame; that powerful neighbors compel us to form one compact body in order to resist them--if these circumstances are wholly independent of ourselves, then it is undeniable that the sole existing remedy lies in a monarchical government.

"When a country is populous and extensive, there are but two modes of assuring to it a solid and permanent existence. Either you must organize those parts separately, placing in each section of the empire a portion of the government, thus maintaining security at the expense of unity, strength, and all the advantages which result from a great and homogeneous association, or else you will be forced to centralize an unchangeable power, which, never renewed by the law, presenting incessant obstacles to ambition, resists with advantage the shocks, rivalries, and rapid vibrations of an immense population, agitated by all the passions engendered by long-established society.

"These facts decide our position. We can only be strong through a federative government, which no one here has the madness to propose, or by a monarchical government such as you have established. You have intrusted to an inviolable king the exclusive function of naming the agents of his power, but you have made those agents responsible.

"Immense damage is done us when that revolutionary impetus, which has destroyed every thing there was to destroy, and which has urged us to the point where we must at last pause, is perpetuated. The Revolution can not advance one step farther without danger. In the line of liberty the first act which follows is the annihilation of royalty. In the line of equality the first act which must follow is an attempt on all property. It is time to end the Revolution. It ought to stop when the nation is free, and all men have equal rights. If it continue in trouble it is dishonored, and we with it. Yes! all the world ought to agree that the common interest is involved in now closing the Revolution.

"Those who have lost ought to perceive that it is impossible to make the Revolution retrograde. Those who fashioned the Revolution should see that it has attained its consummation. Kings themselves--if from time to time profound truths can penetrate the councils of kings, if occasionally the prejudices which surround them will permit the sound views of a great and philosophical policy to reach them--kings themselves must learn that there is for them a wide difference between the example of a great reform in government and that of the abolition of royalty; that if we pause here, where we are, they are still kings! But, be their conduct what it may, let the fault come from them and not from us. Regenerators of the empire, follow straightly your undeviating line. You have been courageous and potent--be to-day wise and moderate. In this will consist the glorious termination of your efforts. Then again returning to your domestic hearths you will obtain, if not blessings, at least the silence of calumny."

Though these views of moderation were opposed alike by the aristocrats and the Jacobins, they were accepted with applause by the great majority of the Assembly. Aristocrats and Jacobins now combined to disturb in every possible way the action of the Assembly. They both hoped through tumult and anarchy to march into power. Mobs began to reassemble in the streets of Paris, and cries of treason were uttered against La Fayette and his fellow-constitutionalists. Already in the market-place, at the Palais Royal, and in the hall of the Jacobins, individuals denounced that Constitution as tyrannical which the nation had so recently, with unutterable enthusiasm, sworn to support.[289]

La Fayette, Barnave, the Lameths, Talleyrand, and other illustrious friends of a constitutional monarchy, sent a confidential note to the Emperor of Austria, assuring him that the Constitution conferred as much power upon the king as it was possible now to obtain from the French nation; that any invasion of France by the allies would only exasperate the people, bring the Jacobins into power, endanger the life of the king, and that it could not be successful in restoring the Old Régime. The king was consulted upon this measure, and gave it his approval.[290]

Notwithstanding these warnings, the monarchs of Europe, who were trembling lest the spirit of liberty, rising in France, should undermine their despotic thrones, resolved to crush the patriots beneath the tramp of their dragoons. Leopold of Austria, Frederick William of Prussia, and Count d'Artois, with Bouillé and other of the emigrants, met at Pilnitz, and on the 27th of August signed an agreement that the French Revolution was an "open revolt," "a scandalous usurpation of power," and that all the governments of Europe were bound to unite to abate the nuisance.[291]

The Jacobin Club, it will be remembered, in a stormy midnight debate, had drawn up a petition to the Assembly demanding the deposition of the king as a perjured traitor. They wished, by a demonstration of popular enthusiasm, to terrify the Assembly into obedience to their mandate. Accordingly, the whole populace of Paris were summoned to meet on the Field of Mars, to sign, with much parade, the petition on the Altar of Federation, which had not yet been taken down.

At an early hour on the morning of the 17th of July the multitude began to congregate. It was the Sabbath-day. Every scene in the drama of the Revolution seems to have been arranged on the sublimest scale. Soon from fifty to one hundred thousand, including the lowest of the population of Paris, were thronging the field, and clambering over the gigantic altar.[292] Two men were seized, under the absurd accusation that they were intending to blow up the altar and all upon it by means of a barrel of gunpowder. The cry of "Aristocrats!" which passed like a tornado through the crowd, precluded any trial, and settled their doom. The two unhappy men were literally torn to pieces, and their heads were borne about on pikes by brutal wretches who were now beginning to emerge from dens of obscurity into confidence and power.

The rumor of these murders and of the threatening attitude of the mob spread through the city and reached the ears of the Assembly. The principal ringleaders of the Jacobins were nowhere to be found, and it was asserted and generally believed that they were in a secret place, that they might escape responsibility, while, through their agents, they were rousing the mob to a demonstration which should overawe the Assembly. In the midst of the wildest imaginable scene of tumult and uproar, the mandate of the Jacobins--for it could with no propriety be called a petition--was placed upon the altar upon many separate sheets of paper, and speedily received six thousand signatures. This was a new order, drawn up at the moment, for the original document could not be found. It read as follows:

"Representatives of the people! your labors are nearly ended. A great crime has been committed. Louis has fled, abandoning his post. The country is on the verge of ruin. The king has been arrested, brought back to Paris, and the people demand that he be tried. You declare that he shall be king. The people do not wish it, and therefore annul your decree. The king has been carried off by the two hundred and ninety-two aristocrats who have themselves declared that they have no longer a voice in the National Assembly. Your decree is annulled, because it is in opposition to the voice of the people, your sovereign. Repeal it. The king has abdicated by crime. Receive his abdication."

Nothing could be more execrable than this usurpation of authority by the mob. The Assembly was composed of the representatives of twenty-five millions of people, acting under the calm deliberation which the forms of law exacted. And here six thousand men, women, and boys, belched forth perhaps from the dens of infamy in Paris, and arming themselves with a mob of fifty thousand of the most degraded of the populace of a great city, assumed to be the nation--the law makers and the law executors of the kingdom of France.[293]

The municipality ordered La Fayette, with a detachment of the National Guard, to proceed to the scene of tumult and disperse the rioters. The moment the soldiers appeared they were received with hisses, shouts, and a shower of stones from the populace. Several of the stones struck La Fayette, and he narrowly escaped death from a pistol-shot fired at him. The attitude of the mob was so threatening that La Fayette retired for a stronger force. He soon returned, accompanied by Bailly, the mayor of the city, and all the municipal authorities, and followed by ten thousand of the National Guard. The red flag, which proclaimed that the city was placed under martial law, was now floating from the Hôtel de Ville. The tramp of ten thousand men,[294] with the rolling of artillery and the beating of four hundred drums, arrested the attention of the throng. The troops, debouching by three openings which intersected the glacis, were, as by magic, drawn up facing the throng. M. Bailly, upon horseback, displayed the red flag, in accordance with the Riot Act law, and ordered the mob to disperse.[295]

The response was a shout from fifty thousand men, women, and boys of "Down with the red flag! Down with Bailly! Death to La Fayette!" The clamor became hideous, and a shower of mud and stones fell upon La Fayette and the mayor, and several pistol-shots from a distance were discharged at them. The crowd, accustomed to lawlessness, did not believe that the municipal government would dare to order the soldiers to fire.

La Fayette, with mistaken humanity, ordered the advance guard to fire into the air. The harmless volley was followed by shouts of derision and defiance. It now became necessary to give the fatal order. One volley swept the field. The crash was followed by a shriek, as four hundred dead or wounded fell upon the plain, and as the smoke passed away the whole tumultuous mass was seen flying in terror over the embankments and through the avenues. The artillerymen, with the coolness of trained soldiers, were just upon the point of opening their fire of grapeshot upon the panic-stricken fugitives, when La Fayette, unable to make his voice heard through the uproar, heroically threw himself before the cannon, and thus saved the lives of thousands. The National Guard, saddened by the performance of a duty as painful as it was imperious, returned in the evening through the dark streets of Paris and dispersed to their homes.[296]

The next day M. Bailly appeared before the Assembly, and, in terms of dignity and manly sorrow, reported the triumph of the law. Both the National Assembly and the municipality of Paris voted their cordial approval of the conduct of Bailly and La Fayette. The Jacobin press, however, gave utterance to the fiercest invectives. Bailly and La Fayette were denounced as murderers, and every effort was made to exasperate the passions of the populace.

Amid such scenes of agitation and violence the Assembly concluded its task of forming a constitution. The important document, which was but partially finished at the great celebration on the 14th of July, 1790, was now completed. None were, however, fully satisfied with the Constitution. The aristocratic party abhorred the democratic spirit with which it was pervaded, and yet wished to make it still more obnoxiously democratic, that monarchical Europe might be more thoroughly exasperated. The Jacobins held it up to derision and execration because it was not democratic enough. The moderate party, represented by such men as La Fayette and Barnave, wished to invest the king with more power, but dared not attempt any revision of the Constitution, with the aristocrats and the Jacobins both ready to combine against them.

Napoleon was at this time a young officer in the army, twenty-three years of age. His brother Joseph was studying law in Italy. The whole family had warmly espoused the popular cause. From the beginning Napoleon was the ardent advocate of equal rights, and the determined foe of mob violence. At this early period of the Revolution, he expressed the views to which he adhered through the whole of his career.

There was about this time a large party given by M. Necker. All the illustrious men and women of Paris were present. The youthful Napoleon, then quite a boy in appearance, and almost a stranger in Paris, was introduced to this brilliant assembly by his friend the Abbé Raynal. The genius of Napoleon, and his commanding conversational eloquence, soon drew around him quite a group.

"Who is that young man," inquired the proud Alfieri, "who has collected such a group around him?"

"He is," replied the abbé, "a protégé of mine, and a young man of extraordinary talent. He is very industrious, well read, and has made remarkable attainments in history, mathematics, and all military science."

The Bishop of Autun commended the soldiers for having refused to obey their officers, who had ordered them, on a certain occasion, by a discharge of musketry, to disperse a mob.

"Excuse me, my lord," said Napoleon, in tones of earnestness which arrested general attention, "if I venture to interrupt you, but, as I am an officer, I must claim the privilege of expressing my sentiments. It is true that I am young, and it may appear presumptuous in me to address so many distinguished men. But during the past three years I have paid intense attention to our political troubles. I see with sorrow the state of our country, and I will incur censure rather than pass unnoticed principles which are not only unsound, but which are subversive of all government.

"As much as any I desire to see all abuses, antiquated privileges, and usurped rights annulled. Nay, as I am at the commencement of my career, it will be my best policy, as well as my duty, to support the progress of popular institutions, and to promote reform in every branch of the public administration. But as, in the last twelve months, I have witnessed repeated alarming popular disturbances, and have seen our best men divided into factions which threaten to be irreconcilable, I sincerely believe that now, more than ever, a strict discipline in the army is absolutely necessary for the safety of our constitutional government and for the maintenance of order.

"Nay, if our troops are not compelled unhesitatingly to obey the commands of the executive, we shall be exposed to the blind fury of democratic passions which will render France the most miserable country on the globe. The ministry may be assured that, if the daily-increasing arrogance of the Parisian mob is not repressed by a strong arm and social order rightly maintained, we shall see not only this capital but every other city in France thrown into a state of indescribable anarchy, while the real friends of liberty, the enlightened patriots now working for the best good of our country, will sink beneath a set of demagogues who, with louder cries for freedom on their tongues, will be in reality but a horde of savages, worse than the Neros of old."[297]

The whole future career of Napoleon was in consistency with the spirit of these remarks. "I frankly declare," said Napoleon, subsequently, "that if I were compelled to choose between the old monarchy and Jacobin misrule, I should infinitely prefer the former."

On the 3d of September the Constitution was presented to the king for his acceptance with imposing ceremonies.[298] At nine o'clock in the evening a deputation left the chamber of the Assembly, and, escorted by a numerous and brilliant guard of honor, entered the Chateau of the Tuileries. The multitudes who thronged the way applauded loudly. The king, surrounded by his ministers and other high officers of the kingdom, received the deputation in his council-chamber. M. Thouret, president of the commission, presented the Constitution to the king, saying,

"Sire! the representatives of the nation come to present to your majesty the constitutional act which consecrates the indefeasible rights of the French people, which gives to the throne its true dignity, and regenerates the government of the empire."

The king, with a countenance expressive of satisfaction, received the document, and replied that he would examine it, and, after the shortest possible delay, communicate his decision to the Assembly. On the 13th he sent a message to the Assembly, which Barnave had assisted him in drawing up, and which contained the following conciliatory and noble sentiments:

"I have examined the Constitution. I accept it and will carry it into execution. The will of the people is no longer doubtful to me, and therefore I accept the Constitution. I freely renounce the co-operation I had claimed in this work, and I declare that when I have renounced it no other but myself has any right to claim it. Let the absent who are restrained by the fear of persecutions return to their country in safety. Let us consent to a mutual forgiveness of the past and obliterate all accusations arising from the events of the Revolution in a general reconciliation. I do not refer to those which have been caused by an attachment to me. Can you see any guilt in them? I will present myself to-morrow at noon to the National Assembly, and take oath to the Constitution in the very place where it has been drawn up."

This frank and cordial assent was unanticipated. It created a burst of extraordinary joy. La Fayette, in response to the suggestion of the king, immediately proposed a general amnesty for all acts connected with the Revolution. The motion was carried by acclaim. For a moment all parties seemed again to be united, prisons were thrown open, captives liberated, and shouts of fraternity and happiness resounded through Paris.

The next day the king went to the Assembly and took his seat by the side of the president. He was received by all the members standing, and they remained standing while he addressed them. With the most earnest expression of sincerity and satisfaction, the king said,

"I come to consecrate solemnly here the acceptance I have given to the Constitutional Act. I swear to be faithful to the nation and the law, and to employ all the powers delegated to me for maintaining the Constitution and carrying its decrees into effect. May this great and memorable epoch be that of the re-establishment of peace, and become the gage of the happiness of the people and the prosperity of the empire."

As the king withdrew the whole Assembly enthusiastically escorted him to his palace. But it was a bitter trial for the once absolute monarch to lay aside his unlimited power and become a constitutional king. The monarch, though feeling humiliated, was still enabled to maintain his aspect of smiles and composure until he reached the privacy of his own apartment. He then threw himself into a chair, and, losing all control, burst into tears.[299] A weeping king excites universal sympathy. The heroic struggles of twenty millions of people to gain their liberties also secure the sympathy and the admiration of every noble heart.

On the 18th of November the Constitution was proclaimed in the streets of Paris. Every thing was done which art could devise to invest the scene with splendor.

Paris was again in a delirium of joy. The bells rang, salvos of artillery were fired, and the acclamations of hundreds of thousands, blending with peals of music from martial bands, filled the air with a confusion of all the sounds of exultation. The people were never weary of calling the king, the queen, the children, to the windows of the palace, and whenever they appeared they were greeted with outbursts of love and joy.[300]

On the 18th there was another magnificent festival on the Field of Mars. The Constitution was read to the people. It was accepted by them with the simultaneous shout from three hundred thousand voices of "Vive la Nation! Vive le Roi!" No discordant cry was heard. "After the tempest, those who have been beaten by it, as well as those who have not suffered, enjoy in common the serenity of the sky." In the evening Paris and all France blazed with illuminations and resounded with the shout of enfranchised millions. Balloons rose, from which copies of the Constitution were scattered as snow-flakes upon the multitude. The Elysian Fields, from the Arc de l'Etoile to the Tuileries, was brilliant with garlands and stars and pyramids of flame. Every tree blazed with quivering tongues of fire. Majestic orchestras pealed forth the notes of national triumph, and a multitude which no man could number filled that most magnificent avenue of Europe with plays, dances, shouts, and songs of exultation.

La Fayette, on his well-known white charger, rode at the head of his staff through the almost impenetrable throng, accompanied by the king, the queen, and their children. Enthusiasm now reached its culminating point. Hats were thrown into the air, and from the whole mighty mass, as by electric sympathy, rose the cry "Vive le Roi! Vive la Reine! Vive le Dauphin!"

The king and queen were overjoyed in view of the happiness of the people, and of the love thus spontaneously and enthusiastically manifested for the royal family. The queen was bewildered by so marvelous a change. But four weeks before the royal family were conducted as captives through that same avenue, surrounded by the same countless throng, and not a voice bade them welcome. They could then read in every eye the expression of hatred and defiance. The contrast led the queen to exclaim, "They are no longer the same people." Even her proud heart was touched, and she, for the first time, began to feel some respect for popular rights. Returning to the palace, of her own accord she stepped out upon the balcony, and presented her children to the crowd who thronged the terrace. They received such greeting as can only come from hearts glowing with sincerity and joy. These days of rejoicing were terminated by an offering of thanksgiving to God, as the sublime chant of the Te Deum was sung in the cathedral of Nôtre Dame.

The Constituent Assembly, having now completed its task, prepared to dissolve. As a conclusive reply to all who had accused it of ambitious designs to perpetuate its powers, and as a magnanimous display of patriotic disinterestedness, it decreed that none of its members should be re-eligible to the next Legislature.

At three o'clock in the afternoon of the 30th of September, the king, surrounded by his ministers, entered the Assembly. He was no longer the hostage of the nation, but its recognized sovereign; the guard which the law assigned him being now placed under his own command. Upon his entrance the applause was so enthusiastic and prolonged that for some time he was unable to commence speaking. He then said,

"Gentlemen, after the completion of the Constitution, you have resolved on to-day for the termination of your labors. I will exercise all the power confided to me in assuring to the Constitution the respect and obedience which is its due. For you, gentlemen, who, during a long and painful career, have evinced an indefatigable zeal in your labors, there remains a last duty to fulfill, when you are scattered over the face of the empire. It is to enlighten your fellow-citizens as to the spirit of the laws you have made; to purify and unite opinions by the example you will give to the love of order and submission to the laws. Be, on your return to your homes, the interpreters of my sentiments to your fellow-citizens. Tell them that the king will always be their first and most faithful friend; that he desires to be loved by them, and can only be happy with them and by them."

The king left the hall amid the loudest acclamations. They were the last with which he was greeted. Thouret, the president of the Assembly, as soon as the king had retired, said in a loud voice, "The Constituent Assembly pronounces its mission accomplished, and that its sittings now terminate." Thus closed the truly patriotic Assembly. It had accomplished the greatest and the most glorious revolution ever achieved in so short a time, and with so little violence. Repressing alike the despotism of aristocracy and the lawlessness of the mob, it established a constitution containing the essential elements of liberty protected by law. Under this constitution France might have advanced in prosperity. But the aristocrat and the Jacobin combined in its overthrow. They were fatally successful in their efforts.

It is interesting to observe how differently the same events were regarded by different minds. Bertrand de Moleville, a warm partisan of the aristocracy, says,

"Thus terminated this guilty Assembly, whose vanity, ambition, cupidity, ingratitude, ignorance, and audacity have overturned the most ancient and the noblest monarchy of Europe, and rendered France the theatre of every crime, of every calamity, and of the most horrible catastrophe. Can these treacherous representatives ever justify themselves in the eyes of the nation for having so unworthily abused their confidence and their powers?"

On the other hand, the democratic historians, the "Two Friends of Liberty," while regretting that the Constitution was not more thoroughly democratic, say,

"The Constitution of 1791, with all its faults, forever deserves the gratitude of the French people, because it has destroyed, never to return, every trace of feudalism, imposts the most fatal to agriculture, the privileges of particular persons, the usurpations of the priesthood over the civil power, and the proud pretensions of ancient corporations; because it has realized what philosophy for ages has in vain wished, and what monarchs the most absolute have never dared to undertake; and because it has established that uniformity which no one could have ever hoped for in an empire formed by gradual accretions from time to time, and with which, under a good government, there is no prosperity which France may not realize."

But whatever may be the estimate which political partisans may place upon the labors of the Assembly, no intelligent man will now deny that the great majority of that body were true patriots, sincerely desiring the welfare of their country. It will be admitted by all that they abolished judicial torture, placed all men upon the basis of equality in the eye of the law, annulled obnoxious privileges, introduced vast reform into commercial jurisprudence, established liberty of worship and of conscience, suppressed monastic vows, abolished the execrable system of lettres de cachet, rendered personal liberty sacred, introduced equality of taxation, and swept away those provincial jealousies and that interior line of custom-houses which had for ages seriously embarrassed the internal trade of the kingdom. All feudal rights were abrogated, industry encouraged, and the citizens of the kingdom were enrolled into a National Guard, for the preservation of domestic peace and to resist aggression.

This most noble reform combined Europe assailed with all its marshaled bayonets. The crime deluged the Continent in woe. After nearly a quarter of a century of conflagration and carnage, French liberty was trampled into the bloody mire of Waterloo, and the Old Régime was reinstated.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 287: "Je connais vos moyens de defense; ils sont nul. Et votre châtiment servira d'exemple aux autres peuples. Voilà ce que voit vous dire un homme qui n'a pour vous et votre peuple qu'indignation et horreur. Je connais les chemins; je guiderais les armées étrangères qui vous attaqueront. Si l'on ôte un seul cheven de la tête de mon roi, il ne restera pas pièrre sur pièrre à Paris. Adieu, messieurs."--Histoire de la Revolution Française, par Villaumé, p. 160.]

[Footnote 288: The Assembly, while exonerating the king, condemned Bouillé and three Guards du Corps who accompanied the king in his flight. It is impossible to refute the logic with which Robespierre opposed this decision. "The measures you propose," he said, "can not but dishonor you. If you adopt them, I demand to declare myself the advocate of all the accused. I will be the defender of the three Guards du Corps, the governess, even of Monsieur de Bouillé. By the principles of your committee, no crime has been committed. Where there is no crime there can be no accomplices. Gentlemen, to visit the weaker culprit when the greater one escapes is cowardice. You must condemn all or acquit all." To this no reply was made. The Assembly voted.]

[Footnote 289: "The Republican party now began to appear. The struggle, which lay at first between the Assembly and the court, then between the Constitutionalists and the aristocrats, was now about to commence between the Constitutionalists and the Republicans."--Mignet, p. 104.]

[Footnote 290: Villiaumé, p. 112; Desodoards, p. 42.]

[Footnote 291: Hist. de la Rev. Fr., par Villiaumé, p. 112. "The Emperor of Austria, the King of Prussia, and the Count d'Artois met at Pilnitz, where they made the famous declaration of the 27th of August, which, far from improving the condition of the king, would have imperiled him, had not the Assembly, in its wisdom, continued to follow out its new designs, regardless at once of the clamors of the multitude at home and of the foreign powers."--Mignet, p. 107.]

[Footnote 292: Histoire des Montagnards, par Alphonse Esquiros, p. 49.]

[Footnote 293: "It is easy to discern how many a hasty and tremulous hand has traced the witness of its fury or ignorance upon this document. Many were even unable to write. A circle of ink with a cross in the centre marks their anonymous adhesion to the petition. Some female names are to be seen, and numerous names of children are discernible from the inaccuracy of their hand, guided by another."--History of the Girondists, Lamartine, vol. i., p. 125.

This document is still preserved in the archives of the municipality of Paris. On it may be read the names of Chaumette, Maillard, Hebert, Hauriot, Santerre, and others who subsequently became most conspicuous in deeds of cruelty and infamy.]

[Footnote 294: History of the Girondists, Lamartine, vol. i., p. 126.]

[Footnote 295: The Riot Act established by the Constitution was a great improvement upon the Riot Act of England. It declared that the municipal officers, if the public peace is endangered, shall declare that military force must be produced; and the signal of this declaration shall be a red flag upon the Hôtel de Ville, and then carrying before them a red flag through the streets, wherever they, with their armed force, go. On the appearance of the red flag, all crowds refusing instantly to disperse shall be held criminal, and shall be liable to be dispersed by force. In a crowd a voice can not always be heard, but a red flag can always be seen. The crowd, though thus dispersed, were authorized to depute six persons to state their grievance to the government.]

[Footnote 296: There are many conflicting partisan accounts of this event. The most careful and thorough investigation has led me to the statement given above. When the Jacobins came into power they sent Bailly to the guillotine for this noble deed. La Fayette would have perished with him had he not been sheltered in the dungeons of Olmutz. Bailly, in his narrative of this affair, says that there were but twelve killed and about as many wounded.]

[Footnote 297: The narrative of this interview is given in full in Chambers' Edinburgh Journal. It was communicated to that journal by an Italian gentleman, a pupil of Condorcet, who was present on the occasion.]

[Footnote 298: The Constitution was commenced the 17th of June, 1789, and completed the 3d of September, 1791.]

[Footnote 299: Madame Campan's Memoirs, vol. ii., p. 157.]

[Footnote 300: All contemporary history unites in testifying to the enthusiasm displayed on this occasion.]

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

XXIV. THE APPROACH OF WAR

Sentiments of the King and Queen upon the Constitution.--The Legislative Assembly.--Its democratic Spirit.--The King's Speech.--Painful Scene.--The Queen plans Escape.--Riot in the Theatre.--Infatuation of the Aristocrats.--Insult to the Duke of Orleans.--Embarrassment of the Allies.--Replies to the King from the European Powers.--The Emigrants at Coblentz.--The King's Veto.--Letters of the King to his Brothers.--Their Replies.--Cruel Edicts.--Pétion chosen Mayor.--The King visits the Assembly.--Rise of the Republican Party.

The monarch of France, though deprived of absolute power, was still in the enjoyment of extensive prerogatives. The Assembly had conferred upon him the title of King of the French, an annual income of five millions of dollars, the command of the armies, and the right of suspending the national decrees. The king and queen were probably at this time sincere in their resolve to be resigned to the change, and to accept the Constitution. In the first interview which Bertrand de Moleville, a Royalist whom the king had appointed Minister of Marine, had with the king, the following remarks were made by the monarch:

"In my opinion the Constitution has serious defects, and if I had been at liberty to address some observations to the Assembly, very beneficial reforms might have resulted from them. But now it is too late, and I have accepted it, such as it is. I have sworn to cause it to be executed, and I ought to be, and will be, strictly faithful to my oath."

"But may I be permitted," inquired the minister, "to ask your majesty if the queen's opinion on this point agrees with the king's?"

"Yes, precisely," said the king; "she will tell you so herself."

"I went down stairs," continues Bertrand de Moleville in his interesting narrative, "to the queen, who, after declaring with extreme kindness that she, as well as the king, felt under much obligation to me for having accepted the ministry under such critical circumstances, added these words:

"'The king has acquainted you with his intentions relative to the Constitution. Do you think that the only plan he has to follow is to adhere to his oath?'

"'Most certainly, madam,' I replied.

"'Well, then,' said the queen, 'be assured that nothing shall induce us to change. Come, M. Bertrand, courage! I hope that with patience, firmness, and perseverance, all is not yet lost.'"[301]

Just before the dissolution of the Constituent Assembly, elections had been held, in accordance with the provisions of the Constitution, to choose the first Legislative Assembly. This legislature was to be renewed every two years. No member of the Constitutional Assembly was eligible. The Legislative Assembly, consequently, was composed mostly of obscure men with but little political experience. They numbered seven hundred and forty-five.

The Legislative Assembly was convened the 1st day of October, the day after the dissolution of the Constituent Assembly, and in the hall which had been occupied by that body.[302] At its first sitting it was observed that the exterior aspect of the Assembly had greatly changed; that nearly all the white heads had disappeared; and that France had fallen into the hands of young men. Sixty of the deputies were under twenty-six years of age. The spirit of the new Assembly was developed in its first decrees. A deputation was sent to inform the king that the Assembly was organized. The president of the deputation, in conformity with court etiquette, approached the king, and, when at four paces distance, bowed and said,

"Sire, the Assembly is formed, and has deputed us to inform your majesty."

Upon reporting the result of their mission, some of the deputies were offended that the ancient titles of royalty had been retained.

"I demand," cried one, "that this title of majesty be no longer employed."

"I demand," exclaimed another, "that this title of Sire be abolished. It is only an abbreviation of Seigneur, which recognizes a sovereignty in the man to whom it is given. There is no other majesty here than that of the law and the people. Let us leave the king no other title than that of King of the French."

In the room there was a gilded chair, raised above the seat of the president, which was occupied by the king when he attended the Assembly. It had always been a respectful custom for the members to remain uncovered when the king was present, and to stand while he addressed them. It was the custom for the king, in addressing the Assembly, to be seated and to wear his hat.

"Let this scandalous gilded chair be removed," another said. "Let an equality exist between us and the king as regards ceremony. When he is uncovered and standing, let us stand and uncover our heads. When he is covered and seated, let us sit and wear our hats."

These decrees, abolishing the respect due to rank, and the courtesies so essential to mitigate the ferocity of political strife, were promptly passed. The Constitutional party throughout France were generally mortified and alarmed, and the king was deeply wounded. He declared that the Constitution did not require of him to expose the monarchical dignity to insult, and that he would not preside at the opening of the legislative body in person, but would assign the duty to his ministers.[303] Alarmed by the decision of the king and by the indications of public disapproval, the Assembly, after a debate of two days, repealed the obnoxious decrees.

The Jacobins regarded the repeal as a defeat, and in the Assembly, in their clubs, and in their journals, did what they could to rouse the indignation of the populace. The royalist journals also united with them in the attempt to overwhelm this return to moderation with derision. "See," they cried, "how contemptible is this revolution; how conscious of its own weakness. See, in two days, how often it has given itself the lie." The Royalists still persisted in their endeavor to goad the revolutionary party to every conceivable outrage, that Europe might be more effectually roused to crush the Revolution.[304]

On the 7th the king proceeded to the Assembly. He was received, apparently, with unanimous applause, some shouting energetically "Vive le Roi!" and others, still more energetically, "Vive sa majesté!" The king's speech was conciliatory, and was received with warm approval. The members of the Assembly, however, retained their seats while the king was addressing them. Louis regarded this as an insult, and it wounded him most keenly.

The queen attended the sitting in a private box. The disrespect with which the king was treated pierced her very soul. She sat as in a stupor of silence, her countenance, pallid and wan, betraying the bitterness of her anguish. The king, upon leaving the Assembly, hastened immediately to the private apartment of the queen. He was so pale and agitated that the queen uttered an exclamation of surprise. The unhappy monarch threw himself upon a sofa, and, pressing a handkerchief to his eyes, said,

"All is lost! Ah! madam, and you are witness to this humiliation. What! you are come to France to see--"

"These words," writes Madame Campan, "were interrupted by sobs. The queen threw herself upon her knees before him, and pressed him in her arms. I remained with them, not from any blamable curiosity, but from a stupefaction which rendered me incapable of determining what I ought to do. The queen said to me, 'Oh go, go,' with an accent which expressed, 'Do not remain to witness the dejection and despair of your sovereign.' I withdrew, struck with the contrast between the shouts of joy without the palace, and the profound grief which oppressed the sovereigns within."

The queen resolved immediately to leave Paris and to return to her friends in Vienna, that from the heart of Austria she might plan for the recovery of the throne. The king so far fell in with this plan as to write a letter which M. Goguelat was to take to the emperor. During the whole day the garden and court-yard of the Tuileries were thronged, and the rejoicing shouts of the people filled the air. The ignorant populace, believing that the king and the queen shared their joy, called loudly for them to take an airing in their carriage in the Elysian Fields. It was not deemed prudent to decline. With heavy hearts they entered their carriage, and rode slowly along the magnificent avenue, escorted by the officers of the Parisian army. Here a new insult awaited them. Though they were repeatedly greeted with shouts of "Vive le Roi!" a gigantic man, with stentorian voice, kept near the carriage window, ever interrupting those shouts with the cry, "No, don't believe them. Vive la Nation!" This one ill-omened voice, incessantly reiterated, sank deep into their hearts, and obliterated all impressions of public acclaim. In the deepest dejection they returned to the palace.[305]

That night Paris blazed with illuminations, and the shouts of joyful revelry filled all the streets; but in these resounding plaudits the queen heard but the death-knell of the monarchy, and, in the retirement of her boudoir, she was at midnight planning her escape from France.

It was deemed by the king and queen of the utmost importance to assume publicly the appearance of content. A few evenings after this, the royal family attended the Théâtre Italien. As Madame Duguzon sang the words, "Ah! how I love my mistress," she turned to the royal box, and gracefully courtesied to the queen. Immediately many Jacobins in the pit shouted, "No mistress! no master! liberty!" This caused others to shout, "Long live the king! long live the queen!" Still more energetically the Jacobins replied, "No king! no queen!" In an instant the theatre was thrown into a Babel of tumult. The infuriated antagonists from words proceeded to blows, and a fierce fight took place under the eyes of the royal family. News of the affray spread rapidly through Paris, and the excitable mob was rapidly gathering, when the royal guards surrounded the king and queen and bore them safely to the palace. This was the last time the royal family ventured into the theatre.[306]

The queen was all this time carrying on a private correspondence with the foreign powers in cipher, and through her agents was conferring with William Pitt in London. "The queen told me," writes Madam Campan, "that her secret envoy was returned from London, and that all he had been able to wring from Pitt, whom he found alarmingly reserved, was, that he would not suffer the French monarchy to fall; that to suffer the revolutionary spirit to erect an organized republic in France would be a great error as regarding the tranquillity of Europe."[307]

The queen complained that she herself was greatly embarrassed by the arrogance of the nobles. "When I do any thing," she said to Madame Campan, "which the noblesse do not like, I am treated with marked neglect. No one will come to my card-parties, and the king is left in solitude."[308]

The Royalists, indeed, seem to have been abandoned to utter infatuation. They did every thing in their power to insult and exasperate those who were not their political confederates. The Duke of Orleans went to the Tuileries to attend the king's levee. The courtiers who thronged the anterooms, as soon as he entered, crowded around him, hustled him about, trod on his toes, and punched him with their elbows. "Gentlemen," they shouted to each other, "watch the dishes!" implying that the duke was provided with poison to sprinkle upon the refreshments. The duke was at last compelled to retire without seeing the royal family. The crowd followed him to the staircase, and, as he descended, spit upon him, covering his head and clothes with saliva. The duke supposed, though erroneously, that the king and queen instigated this unpardonable outrage. It is not strange that this man, when his hour of power came, voted to send the king to the guillotine.[309]

The queen was unrelenting in her hostility to La Fayette, and often treated him with the most irritating rudeness. "Her aversion," says Madame Campan, "for the general increased daily, and grew so powerful that when, toward the end of the Revolution, he seemed willing to support the tottering throne she could never bring herself to incur so great an obligation to him."[310] On one occasion La Fayette met the queen in a private interview, while his aids waited for him in the saloon. Some of the ladies of the court, to insult La Fayette and his aids, said loudly, "It is very alarming to see the queen alone with a rebel and a brigand."

The feelings of the king were now so outraged that he could not cheerfully persevere in his resolves to maintain the new order of affairs. The allied sovereigns were, however, so embarrassed by the acceptance of the Constitution by the king, and by the reiterated declaration of the king that he accepted and adopted the whole system of governmental reform, that they hesitated for a time to carry into execution the declaration of Pilnitz. Louis XVI. notified all the courts of Europe of the change which had been introduced into the government of France, and sent to them all, with much ceremonial pomp, a copy of the Constitution elegantly engrossed upon satin paper. The allies could no longer pretend that they were waging war against a revolted people. It was now necessary, if they continued hostile, to assail the legitimate king, and to deny, in the face of the world, that the government of France had any right to mitigate the severity of its despotism.

The courts of Europe were quite bewildered by the new aspect which affairs thus assumed. It was necessary for them to take some notice of the courteous communication which had been transmitted to them. Leopold of Austria seemed disposed to give up the conflict, thinking that the safety of his sister Marie Antoinette would be promoted by peace. He therefore returned a pacific answer. Prussia and England sent back courteous replies with assurances of their amicable intentions. Holland, the Italian principalities, and Switzerland assumed a friendly attitude. Russia was cold, haughty, and reserved. Gustavus of Sweden returned the insulting reply that the King of France was a prisoner, and that his assent to the Constitution was obtained upon compulsion, and therefore deserved no respect from the foreign powers.[311] The Electors of Treves and of Mentz, in whose territories the emigrants had mostly taken refuge, returned evasive and unsatisfactory replies. Spain, also, while declaring that she had no wish to disturb the internal tranquillity of France, could not conceal her displeasure that free institutions were established so near her borders.

The emigrants, however, were still rallying at Coblentz and making formidable preparations for war. The king was vacillating. It is certain that he sent, apparently, the most sincere injunctions to the emigrants at Coblentz to disband and to return to France, accepting the new order of things. It is equally certain that he kept up a private correspondence with the emigrants, encouraging them to persevere and to march to his rescue.[312]

This hostile gathering at Coblentz, ever threatening the kingdom with invasion, kept France in a continual state of ferment. The Minister of War reported to the Assembly that nineteen hundred of the officers of the army had deserted their posts and joined the menacing foe. After a long and very anxious debate, a decree was passed declaring that the French emigrants assembled at Coblentz were believed to be conspiring against France; that if, on the 1st of January next, they still continued assembled, they should be declared guilty of conspiracy, prosecuted as such, and punished with death; and that the revenues of those who refused to comply with this decree should be levied, during their lives, for the benefit of the nation, without prejudice to the rights of wives, children, and lawful creditors.[313]

The king, on the 10th of November, returned this law with his veto. It was an imposing scene. All the ministers of the king, in a body, went to the Assembly. It was generally understood that the power of the veto was to be exercised. Breathless silence pervaded the Assembly. The bill was returned to the president with the official formula, "The king will examine it." Loud murmurs immediately rose from all parts of the house, and the ministers retired, leaving the Assembly in deep irritation. The conviction was strengthened that the king was in sympathy with the conspirators.

To efface this impression the king the next day issued a proclamation to the emigrants exhorting them to cease to harass France by their threatening attitude, and like good citizens to return and respect the established laws of their country. He entreated them not to compel him to employ severe measures against them. As to the charge that he was deprived of his liberty, he said that the veto which he had just interposed in their favor was sufficient proof of the freedom of his actions. At the same time he published two very decisive letters to his two brothers. To Louis he wrote as follows:

"Paris, November 11, 1791.

"To Louis Stanislas Xavier, French Prince, the King's Brother,--I wrote to you, my brother, on the 16th of October last, and you ought not to have had any doubt of my real sentiments. I am surprised that my letter has not produced the effect which I had a right to expect from it. In order to recall you to your duty I have used all the arguments that ought to touch you most. Your absence is a pretext for all the evil disposed; a sort of excise for all the deluded French, who imagine that they are serving me by keeping all France in an alarm and agitation, which are the torment of my life.

"The Revolution is finished. The Constitution is completed. France wills it; I will maintain it. Upon its consolidation now depends the welfare of the monarchy. The Constitution has conferred rights upon you; it has attached to them one condition which you ought to lose no time in fulfilling. Believe me, brother, and repel the doubts which pains are taken to excite in you respecting my liberty. I am going to prove to you, by a most solemn act, and in a circumstance which interests you, that I can act freely. Prove to me that you are my brother and a Frenchman by complying with my entreaties. Your proper place is by my side; your interests, your sentiments alike urge you to come and resume it. I invite you, and, if I may, I order you to do so. (Signed), Louis."

In a similar strain he wrote to his brother Charles. But neither the proclamation to the emigrants nor the letters to his brothers produced any effect. The Count of Provence (Louis XVIII.), in his reply, said,

"The order which the letter contains for me to return and resume my place by your majesty's person is not the free expression of your will. My honor, my duty, nay, even my affection alike forbid me to obey."

The Count of Artois (Charles X.) replied,

"The decisions referred to in this letter have furnished me with a fresh proof of the moral and physical captivity in which our enemies dare to hold your majesty. After this declaration your majesty will think it natural that, faithful to my duty and the laws of honor, I should not obey orders evidently wrung from you by violence."

Another very serious difficulty now arose. The Constitution established freedom of conscience and of worship. It, however, justly required that all governmental officers should take the oath of allegiance to the Constitution. The Church had been so long in intimate alliance with the State, that that alliance was not severed, and the clergy, as public functionaries who received their salaries from the national treasury, were consequently required to take the oath. Any one was at liberty to refuse to take this oath. By so doing he merely forfeited employment by the nation. He was still permitted to perform the functions of the ministry for any who were disposed to support him as their pastor.

In the Province of Vendée the majority of the clergy refused to take the oath, and carried with them the immense majority of the simple and superstitious peasants. The churches in which they had ministered were immediately assigned to other priests who had taken the oath. The great mass of the people abandoned the churches and followed their nonjuring pastors to private houses, barns, and into the fields. Great enthusiasm was excited, and the nonjuring priests endeavored to excite the people against their colleagues who had taken the oath, and against the people who accepted their ministrations. Acts of violence were frequent and civil war was imminent.

The Legislative Assembly was alarmed, and endeavored to meet the difficulty by adopting measures totally hostile to the free spirit of the Constitution. They resolved that the nonjuring priests should again be called upon to take the oath of allegiance to the Constitution; that, if they refused, they should be not only deprived of all salary, but should be removed from their parishes, and even imprisoned, if need be, that they might not excite their former parishioners to civil war. They were also forbidden to exercise the privilege of private worship. The administrative bodies were required to transmit a list of such priests to the Assembly, with notes relative to the conduct of each one.

These decrees were surely unconstitutional. The bishops and the priests who were endangered by them sent to the king an earnest remonstrance against them. Many of the most influential of the Constitutionalists were opposed to them as both tyrannical and cruel. The king was so moved that he said to his ministers, who coincided with him in opinion, "They shall take my life before they shall compel me to sanction such decrees."

The king returned the bill with his veto, and aggravated the odium this would naturally excite by retaining, contrary to the solicitations of his best friends, nonjuring ecclesiastics to perform the religious services of his chapel. Though we can not commend the prudence we must respect the spirit which impelled him to say,

"The Constitution decrees freedom of religious worship for every body. The king is surely entitled to that liberty as much as his subjects."

All argument was on one side, but peril, more powerful than argument, on the other. "The nonjuring priests," it was exclaimed, "are exciting civil war. The law of self-defense renders it imperative that we should strike them down."

Upon the completion of the Constitution, La Fayette, emulating the character of Washington, resigned the command of the National Guard and retired to his estates. Bailly also resigned his post as mayor of Paris. The command of the Guard was intrusted to six generals, who were to exercise it in rotation. A new mayor of Paris was to be chosen. La Fayette was the candidate of the Constitutionalists, and Pétion of that radical portion of the Republicans who were termed Jacobins. The aristocracy, with their accustomed infatuation, supported Pétion with their influence and with a large outlay of money. They feared that a constitutional monarchy might be sustained, but they believed that the Jacobins would introduce such anarchy as might secure the recall of the old monarchy.

"The Marquis de la Fayette," said the queen, "only desires to be Mayor of Paris that he may be mayor of the palace. Pétion is a Jacobin and a Republican; but he is a fool, incapable of ever being the leader of a party. He will be a nullity of a mayor. Besides, it is possible that the knowledge of the interest we take in his election may bring him over to the king."[314]

Pétion was chosen by a large majority. Bitterly did the king and queen afterward bewail his election. But thus through all this tragedy did they spurn those who alone had the heart and the ability to help them.

In the midst of these troubles the most alarming rumors were every day reaching Paris respecting the threatening aspect of the emigrants. All along the Germanic frontiers, at Strasbourg, Coblentz, Worms, they were marshaling their battalions and collecting munitions of war. Exasperated by these persistent and audacious threats, the Assembly sent a deputation of twenty-four members to the king with a decree declaring that the Electors of Treves and Mentz, and other princes of the Germanic empire should be required to break up these hostile assemblages formed within their territories for the invasion of France. M. de Vaublanc, who headed the deputation, said to the king,

"Sire, if the French who were driven from their country by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes had assembled in arms on the frontiers, and had been protected by Germanic princes, we ask you, sire, what would have been the conduct of Louis XIV.? Would he have suffered these assemblages? That which he would have done for the sake of his authority, your majesty can not hesitate to do for the maintenance of the Constitution."

The king, anxious to regain the ground he had lost by his veto, decided to go to the Assembly and reply in person to their message. On the evening of the 14th of December, his coming having been previously announced, he entered the hall. He was received with the most frigid silence. His speech, however, soon enkindled enthusiasm and applause.

He assured the Assembly that he warmly sympathized with them in all their solicitude for the honor of France, that he had already signified to the Electors of Treves and Mentz that the continued assemblage of troops within their borders for the invasion of France would be deemed cause for war. He said that he had written to Leopold, the Emperor of Germany, demanding his interference to prevent the gathering of troops, hostile to France, within the limits of the Germanic empire, and concluded with the declaration that he would faithfully guard the Constitution, and that he appreciated the glory of being the king of a free people.[315]

This speech was received with great applause, and it was immediately voted that it should be sent to each of the eighty-three departments of the empire. Immediately upon the king's retiring, the Count Louis de Narbonne, minister of war, entered, and informed the Assembly that one hundred thousand men were immediately to be assembled, by order of the king, upon the Rhine, to repel invasion; that three generals were appointed to command them--Luckner, Rochambeau, and La Fayette; that he was about to set out immediately to inspect the fortresses on the frontiers. At the same time all the diplomatic agents who were accused of favoring the aristocratic party were removed, and more democratic officers were appointed in their place. These measures were so popular, and gave such evidence that the king sincerely intended to defend the Constitution, that even the obnoxious vetos were accepted without farther murmurs.

These measures were prosecuted with vigor. Luckner and Rochambeau, having been appointed marshals of France, hastened to the frontiers. La Fayette soon followed them. Battalions of the National Guard escorted him as he left Paris, and he was greeted every where with shouts of applause.

The emigrants were unanimous in their desire for the invasion of France, for the entire overthrow of the Constitution, and the restoration of the Old Régime. Leopold of Austria, however, anxious for the safety of his sister Marie Antoinette, and embarrassed by the king's acceptance of the Constitution, was desirous of effecting some compromise by which a constitution should be permitted to France, but one much more aristocratic in its provisions. Gustavus of Sweden and Catherine of Russia were eager for prompt and energetic war. Catherine wrote a strong letter to Leopold to rouse him to action.

"The King of Prussia," she wrote, "for a mere incivility offered to his sister, sent an army into Holland to punish the affront. And will the Emperor of Austria patiently suffer insults and affronts to be heaped upon his sister, the Queen of France, the degradation of her rank and dignity, and the overthrow of the throne of a king who is his brother-in-law and his ally?"[316]

Under this state of affairs, the French embassador, in January, 1792, was instructed to inform the Austrian government that there was reason to apprehend that a coalition was being formed against the sovereignty and independence of France, and to inquire of Leopold whether he did or did not intend to interfere against the French Revolution. Thus pressed, the Austrian cabinet returned an answer containing the following avowal:

"When France gave to Europe the spectacle of a lawful king forced by atrocious violence to fly, protesting solemnly against the acquiescence which they had extorted from him, and a little afterward stopped and detained prisoner by his subjects--yes, it then did concern the brother-in-law and the ally of the king to invite the other powers of Europe to join with him in a declaration to France that they all view the cause of his most Christian majesty as their own; that they demand that this prince and his family be set at liberty and have power to go where they please; and they require for these royal personages inviolability and due respect, which by the law of nature and nations are due from subjects to their princes; that they will unite to avenge in the most signal manner every farther attempt that may be committed, or may be suffered to be committed, against the liberty, the honor, and the safety of the king, the queen, and the royal family; and that, finally, they will not acknowledge as constitutional and legally established in France any laws but those which shall have the voluntary acquiescence of the king, enjoying perfect liberty. But if, on the other hand, these demands are not complied with, they will in concert employ all the means in their reach to put a stop to the scandalous usurpation of power which bears the appearance of an open rebellion, and which, from the dangers of the example, it concerns all the governments of Europe to repress."

The Republican party in the Legislative Assembly were called the Girondists because their leaders were generally from the department of the Gironde. The evidence to them was conclusive, and is now universally admitted, that the king, instead of sustaining the Constitution, was conspiring with the emigrants and the foreign powers for its overthrow. The Girondists, thus assured that the king was hostile to constitutional liberty while pretending that he was its friend that he might more effectually assail it, were anxious for his dethronement and for the establishment of a republic. Candor surely can not censure them. Twenty-five millions of men were not bound to place their liberties in the hands of a monarch who was conspiring with foreign foes to enslave them anew.

The Republican party increased so rapidly and swayed such an influence that the king was compelled early in 1792 to dismiss his Royalist ministers, and to call into his cabinet the leaders of the Republicans, Dumouriez, Roland, and others. He was compelled very reluctantly to take this step, and soon by them he was compelled, with still greater reluctance, to declare war against Austria.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 301: Bertrand de Moleville, t. vi., p. 22. See also Mémoires de Madame Campan, t. ii., p. 161.]

[Footnote 302: "This Assembly (the Constituent) had consisted of the most imposing body of men that had ever represented, not only France, but the human race. The men of the Constituent Assembly were not Frenchmen, they were universal men. They were, and they felt themselves to be, workmen of God, called by him to restore social reason, and found right and justice throughout the universe. The declaration of the Rights of Man proves this. Thus there was not one of its apostles who did not proclaim peace among the nations. Mirabeau, La Fayette, Robespierre himself, erased war from the symbol which they presented to the nation."--Hist. of the Girondists, by Lamartine, vol. i., p. 250.]

[Footnote 303: Lamartine, in cautious apology for these decrees, says, "The people was a slave, freed but yesterday, and who still trembled at the clank of his chains."--Hist. of the Girondists, vol. i., p. 210.]

[Footnote 304: "The aristocratic party preferred any thing, even the Jacobins, to the establishment of the constitutional laws. The most unbridled disorders seemed preferable, because they buoyed up the hope of a total change; and, twenty times over, upon occasions when persons but little acquainted with the secret policy of the court expressed the apprehensions they entertained of the popular societies, the initiated answered that a sincere Royalist ought to favor the Jacobins."--Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 162.]

[Footnote 305: "What King Louis is, and can not help being, readers already know. A king who can not take the Constitution, nor reject the Constitution, nor do any thing at all but miserably ask, 'What shall I do?'"--Carlyle, History of the French Revolution, vol. ii., p. 22.]

[Footnote 306: The king's government hired hand-clappers and applauders. Fifty thousand dollars a month were devoted to paragraph-writers and journalists. Two hundred and eighty applauders were hired at three shillings each a day to clap and shout whenever the king made his appearance, and to crowd the galleries of the Legislative Assembly whenever the king presented himself there. The account-books of this expenditure still exist.--Montgaillard, vol. iii., p. 141.]

[Footnote 307: Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 189.]

[Footnote 308: Id., 174.]

[Footnote 309: Bertrand Moleville, vol. i., p. 177. Bertrand was an eye-witness of this scene, which he graphically describes.]

[Footnote 310: Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 127.]

[Footnote 311: The Empress Catharine of Russia wrote to Marie Antoinette a letter with her own hand, containing the following sentence: "Kings ought to proceed in their career, undisturbed by the cries of the people, as the moon pursues her course unimpeded by the howling of dogs."--Madame Campan, vol. i., p. 207.]

[Footnote 312: Mémoires de Madame Campan, t. ii., p. 172.]

[Footnote 313: Thiers, vol. i., p. 204.]

[Footnote 314: Bertrand's Private Memoirs, vol. v., p. 106.]

[Footnote 315: There was an earnest debate in February, 1800, in the British House of Commons as to who were the aggressors in this war. Mr. Pitt denounced the French as the aggressors. Mr. Fox, on the contrary, affirmed that the war was unavoidable on the part of France from the menacing conduct of the German powers.]

[Footnote 316: Mémoires de Bouillé, p. 314.]

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

XXV. AGITATION IN PARIS, AND COMMENCEMENT OF HOSTILITIES

Death of Leopold.--Assassination of Gustavus.--Interview between Dumouriez and the Queen.--Discussion in the Assembly.--The Duke of Brunswick.--Interview of Barnave with the Queen.--Interview between Dumouriez and the King.--Dismissal of M. Roland.--The Palace invaded.--Fortitude of the King.--Pétion, the Mayor.--Affecting Interview of the Royal Family.--Remarks of Napoleon.

On the 1st of March, 1792, the Emperor Leopold died. His son, Francis II., a young man twenty-four years of age, ascended the throne. The court of Leopold had been a harem of unblushing sensuality and sin. He did not condescend to spread any veil over his amours. His attachments were numerous and fugitive, and his guilty favorites associated with each other and braved the frowns of the humiliated queen amid the voluptuousness of the palace. At the time of his death there dwelt with him Donna Maria, a young girl from Tuscany, whose surpassing charms had given her celebrity throughout Europe as "the beautiful Florentine;" a Polish girl of great attractions, Mademoiselle Prokache; and the Countess of Walkenstein, whose charms of person and fascination of manners gave her celebrity through all the European courts. Upon this latter favorite alone he lavished gifts, in drafts on the Bank of Vienna, to the amount of two hundred thousand dollars. There were also various other of these favorites of infamy, inferior in notoriety and rank. The annals of Roman story may be searched in vain to find a monarch more utterly profligate. Immediately after his death his widow said to her son Francis,

"My son, you have before you the sad proofs of your father's disorderly life and of my long afflictions. Remember nothing of them except my forgiveness and his virtues. Imitate his great qualities, but beware lest you fall into the same vices, in order that you may not, in your turn, put to the blush those who scrutinize your life."

Marie Antoinette doubted not that her cousin Francis would be as devoted to her interests as her brother Leopold had been. Fifteen days after the death of Leopold, Gustavus III. of Sweden was assassinated at a masked ball by the nobles of his court. His death momentarily embarrassed the movements of the emigrants, for he was actively engaged in raising an army for the invasion of France.[317]

The allies were now vigorously raising troops and directing their march towards the frontiers of France. Some hoped that the demonstration would overawe the French and frighten them into submission. Others were eager, by prompt invasion, to submit the question to the arbitrament of battle. The Assembly speedily dispatched to the threatened frontier three armies of defense. Rochambeau was placed in command of the army of the north, at Flanders, consisting of 63,000 men; La Fayette was sent to the army of the centre, at Metz, which was 52,000 strong; Luckner occupied Alsace, with 48,000 troops.[318]

In calling the Girondists into the ministry, General Dumouriez, a brave and veteran soldier, was appointed to the ministry of foreign affairs. With great vigor he prosecuted arrangements for the defense of France. In addition to the troops, amounting to 163,000, stationed along the northwestern frontier from Dunkirk to Besançon, he raised a fourth army to repel invasion from Spain through the passes of the Pyrenees.

Dumouriez had acquired great popularity in the club of the Jacobins by frequenting their meetings, and by wearing the red cap of liberty, an emblem borrowed from the Phrygians. The queen was highly indignant that one in sympathy with the Jacobins should be called into the ministry, and, as she was now heartily in sympathy with the emigrants and the allies, she was provoked by the vigorous measures adopted to repel them. Dumouriez was a soldier, not a statesman; a man of heroic character, brave, impulsive, and generous. He had great power over the mind of the king; and the queen, anxious to see him, appointed an audience. In the memoirs of Dumouriez we find a narrative of this interview. Upon being ushered into her apartment, he found the queen, with flushed cheeks, rapidly pacing the floor, and giving every indication of extreme excitement. Dumouriez, embarrassed by this aspect of affairs, advanced in silence to a corner of the fire-place, when the queen turned toward him and abruptly said, with an air and tone of anger,

"Sir, you are all-powerful at this moment, but it is through the favor of the people, who soon break their idols in pieces. Your existence depends upon your conduct. It is said that you possess great abilities. You must be aware that neither the king nor myself can endure these innovations, nor the Constitution. This I tell you frankly. Choose your side."

"Madame," Dumouriez replied, "I am deeply pained by the secret which your majesty has just imparted to me. I will not betray it. But I stand between the king and my nation, and I belong to my country. Permit me to say that the welfare of the king, your own, and that of your children, are linked with the Constitution. You are surrounded by enemies who are sacrificing you to their private interests. The Constitution, when once in vigor, so far from bringing misery upon the king, will constitute his happiness and glory. It is absolutely necessary that he should concur in establishing it solidly and speedily."

The queen could never endure contradiction. Losing all self-control, she exclaimed, in a loud and angry tone, "The Constitution will not last. Take care of yourself."

Dumouriez quietly and firmly replied, "Madame, I am past fifty; my life has been crossed by many perils; and, in accepting the ministry, I was thoroughly sensible that responsibility was not the greatest of my dangers."

The queen, in the blindness of her passion, saw fit to interpret this remark as an insinuation that she might cause him to be assassinated. With inflamed cheeks and tears gushing into her eyes, she replied,

"Nothing more was wanting but to calumniate me. You seem to think me capable of causing you to be murdered."

The scene had now become painful in the extreme, and Dumouriez, greatly agitated, answered,

"God preserve me, madame, from doing you so cruel an injury. The character of your majesty is great and noble. You have given heroic proofs of it which I have admired, and which have attached me to you. Believe me, I have no interest in deceiving you. I abhor anarchy and crime as much as you do. But this is not a transient popular movement, as you seem to think. It is an almost unanimous insurrection of a mighty nation against inveterate abuses. Great factions fan this flame. In all of them there are villains and madmen. In the Revolution I keep in view only the king and the entire nation; all that tends to part them leads to their mutual ruin. I strive as much as possible to unite them. If I am an obstacle to your designs, tell me so. I will instantly send my resignation to the king, and hide myself in some corner to mourn over your fate and that of my country."[319]

This conversation restored Dumouriez to the confidence of the queen, and she conversed frankly and with a friendly spirit with him upon her griefs and perils.

"You see me," she said, "very sad. I dare not approach the window which looks into the garden. Yesterday evening I went to the window toward the court just to take a little air. A gunner of the guard addressed me in terms of vulgar abuse, adding, 'How I should like to see your head on the point of my bayonet!' In this horrid garden you see on one side a man, mounted on a chair, reading aloud the most abominable calumnies against us; on the other, a military man or an abbé dragged through one of the basins, overwhelmed with abuse, and beaten, while others are playing at ball, or quietly walking about. What an abode! what a people!"

The Austrian monarchy, supported by the other powers of Europe, now sent to France the insolent demand that the French monarchy should be restored almost to its pristine despotic power; that the three estates of the realm--the clergy, the nobles, and the tiers état, should be re-established, and that there should be the restitution of Church property. It is not surprising that an independent nation of twenty-five millions should have resented such impertinence. There was a general cry of indignation from the Assembly, which was re-echoed by the people, and new vigor was infused on both sides into the preparations for the war.

The king was sorely perplexed. In the event of war, victory would but strengthen the Revolutionary party; defeat would expose him to the charge of treason in feebly conducting hostilities. But France would not yield to this insulting foreign dictation, and the pressure of public opinion fell so strong upon the king that he was constrained, much against his will, to issue a declaration of war. Pale and care-worn the king entered the Assembly, and, after presenting through his minister a report of the demands of Austria, with a faltering voice read his speech.

"Gentlemen," said he, "you have heard the result of the negotiation in which I have been engaged with the court of Vienna. The conclusions of the report have been unanimously adopted by my council. I have myself adopted them. All would rather have war than see the dignity of the French people any longer insulted and the national security threatened. Having employed all possible means to obtain peace, I come now, agreeably to the terms of the Constitution, to propose to the National Assembly war against the King of Hungary and Bohemia."[320]

The proposal was received with shouts of "Vive le Roi," and the decree was passed by a great majority.[321] In the debates which the question of war had excited, great eloquence was displayed in the Assembly. M. Isnard spoke in terms of enthusiasm which brought the whole Assembly to their feet.

"Capitulations," said he, "are proposed to you. It is proposed to increase the power of the king--of a man whose will can paralyze that of a whole nation--of a man who receives thirty millions ($6,000,000) while thousands of citizens are perishing from want. It is proposed to bring back the nobility. Were all the nobles on earth to attack us, the French, holding their gold in one hand, and their sword in the other, would combat that haughty race, and force it to endure the punishment of equality.

"Tell Europe that you will respect the Constitutions of all other countries, but that, if a war of kings is raised against France, you will raise a war of people against kings. The battles which nations fight at the command of despots are like the blows which two friends, excited by a perfidious instigator, strike at each other in the dark. The moment a light appears they embrace and take vengeance on him who deluded them. In like manner, if, at the moment when the hostile armies shall be engaged with ours, the light of philosophy bursts upon their sight, the nations will embrace each other before the face of dethroned tyrants, of consoled earth, and of delighted heaven."[322]

Vergniaud, the illustrious leader of the Gironde, said eloquently, "Our resolution has spread alarm among all thrones, for it has given an example of the destruction of the despotism which sustains them. Kings hate our Constitution because it renders men free, and they would reign over slaves. This hate has been manifested on the part of the Emperor of Germany by all the measures he has adopted to disturb us or to strengthen our enemies and encourage those Frenchmen who have rebelled against the laws of their country.

"Let us demand that the emigrants be dispersed. I might demand that they be given up to the country they insult and to punishment. But no. If they have been greedy for our blood, let us not show ourselves greedy for theirs. Their crime is having wished to destroy their country. Let them be vagrants and wanderers on the face of the earth, and let their punishment be never to find a country."

The most vigorous preparations were now made on both sides for the prosecution of the war. Francis of Austria and Frederick of Prussia met the Duke of Brunswick, Generallissimo of the Confederation, at Frankfort. The duke, who had married a sister of George III. of England, was an energetic, veteran soldier, fifty years of age. His head-quarters were at Coblentz, a town at the confluence of the Moselle and the Rhine, in the state of the Elector of Treves. Twenty-two thousand French emigrants had assembled there in arms. Seven French princes of the House of Bourbon were marshaling them for battle against their native land--to crush the people struggling for liberty--to rivet anew the fetters of the most execrable despotism. These princes were the two brothers of the king, Louis and Charles, the one subsequently Louis XVIII., the other Charles X.; the Duke of Berri and the Duke of Angoulême, sons of Charles; the Prince of Condé, cousin of the king, his son, the Duke of Bourbon, and his grandson, the Duke d'Enghien. All the military noblesse of the kingdom, with the exception of the few who had accepted the Constitution, had deserted their garrisons and united in the most atrocious act of treason. They were not only ready to march themselves, but were combining despotic Europe to march with them to crush the liberties of their country.

The peril of the king was now hourly increasing, for he was playing a double part. While publicly declaring war he was secretly carrying on a correspondence with the emigrants and with the foreign powers, encouraging them to make war upon France. This was known by some, and suspicions of the king's sincerity were spreading rapidly among the people. He had many papers in his possession, which, if discovered, would cause his ruin. To conceal them he had an iron chest built into the thick wall of one of his apartments. This was done by the confidential locksmith who had been his companion at the forge for ten years. The wall was painted to resemble large stones. The openings of the panel were masked in the brown grooves. But after constructing this safe the king was apprehensive that his locksmith would betray him, and he consequently intrusted a portfolio containing many of his most important papers to the care of Madame Campan.

On the 28th of April, one week after the declaration of war, a very ill-advised attack was made by the French in three detachments upon three separate positions of the Austrians. But the Austrians, minutely informed of the plan, were prepared, in stronger numbers, to meet their foes. The undisciplined French troops were driven back in confusion and shame. They thought that the king had treacherously ordered them to be led into a snare. The populace generally adopted the same belief. After this the troops, on both sides, widely dispersed and poorly provided with ammunition, provisions, and camp-equipage, could only observe each other for several weeks, and make preparation for the opening of the campaign.

Suspicions of the insincerity of the king were rapidly spreading among the people, while those acquainted with the royal family saw plainly that they were placing all their reliance in hopes of assistance from the armed emigrants. Barnave, who, since the return from Varennes, had periled his influence and his life in his endeavor to save the royal family, finding all his efforts rejected, and that the king and queen were rushing to ruin, solicited a last audience with the queen.

"Your misfortunes," said he, "and those which I anticipate for France determined me to sacrifice myself to serve you. I see that my advice does not agree with the views of your majesties. I augur but little advantage from the plan you are induced to pursue; you are too remote from your succors; you will be lost before they reach you. Most ardently do I wish I may be mistaken in so lamentable a prediction. But I am sure to pay my head for the interest your misfortunes have raised in me and the services I have sought to render you. I request for my sole reward the honor of kissing your hand."

The queen, her eyes suffused with tears, presented her hand to Barnave, and he, with much emotion imprinting a kiss upon it, took his leave. His devotion to the queen, however, cost him his life. Hardly a year elapsed ere he was led to the scaffold.

Two decrees had been passed by the Assembly which were quite obnoxious to the king. One decree enacted that any nonjuring priest who should be denounced by twenty citizens as endeavoring to excite faction should be banished the kingdom. The other established a camp of twenty thousand men[323] under the walls of Paris for its protection. The king, expecting that the foreign armies would soon arrive and rescue him, put his veto upon both of these measures. Dumouriez entreated the king to sanction these decrees, but in vain, and he was compelled to resign his post in the ministry. He was immediately commissioned to the frontiers to aid in the war against the invaders. As he entered the cabinet of the king to render in his accounts and to take leave, the king said,

"You go, then, to join the army of Luckner?"

"Yes, sire," replied Dumouriez, "and I am delighted to leave this tumultuous city. I have but one regret--your majesty is in danger."

"Yes," replied Louis, with a sigh, "I certainly am."

"Ah! sire," returned the minister, "you can no longer suppose that I spoke from any interested motive. Let me implore you not to persist in your fatal resolution."

"Speak no more of it," said the king, "my part is taken."

"Ah! sire," rejoined Dumouriez, "you said the same when in this very chamber in the presence of the queen you gave me your word."

"I was wrong then," replied the king, "and I repent that I did so."

"It is now, sire, that you are wrong," continued Dumouriez, "not then. I shall see you no more. They abuse your religious scruples. They are leading you to a civil war. You are without force, and you will be overpowered. History will accuse you of having caused the calamities of France."

"God is my witness," said Louis in tones of the deepest affliction, and at the same time placing his hands affectionately upon those of Dumouriez, "that I wish the happiness of France."

Tears gushed into the eyes of Dumouriez, and his voice was broken with emotion as he replied, "I do not doubt it, sire; but you are answerable to God, not only for the purity but for the enlightened direction of your intentions. You think that you are protecting religion, and you are destroying it. The priests will be massacred. You will lose your crown, perhaps your wife, your children."

There was a moment of silence, during which the king pressed the hand of his faithful friend; Dumouriez then continued:

"Sire, if all the French knew you as I know you, our calamities would soon be at an end. You wish the happiness of France. You have been sacrificing yourself to the nation ever since 1789. Continue to do so, and our troubles will soon cease, the Constitution will be established, the French will return to their natural character, and the remainder of your reign will be happy."

"I expect my death," the king rejoined mournfully, "and I forgive my enemies. I thank you for the sensibility you have shown. You have served me well, and you have my esteem, and you shall have proofs of it if I am ever to see a better day."

The king then rose, and, to conceal his emotion, went hastily to a window. Dumouriez gathered up his papers slowly that he might have time to regain his composure. As he was leaving the room the king again approached him, and in a tremulous tone said "Adieu! may all happiness attend you." They parted, both in tears.[324]

M. Roland, Minister of the Interior, presented a letter to the king, urging him to sanction the decrees, and to adopt a course more in accordance with the spirit of constitutional liberty. This letter has obtained world-wide celebrity. It was written by Madame Roland, the wife of the minister, one of the most extraordinary women of that or any other age. She was, in fact, the soul of the Republican party. The leaders of that party met every evening in her saloon, and her sagacity originated the measures which they adopted. She was a woman of heroic mould, and endowed with wonderful powers of intellect and eloquence. The letter contained a lively exposition of the peril to which the king was exposed by opposing the establishment of constitutional liberty in France. The indignation of the king was aroused by its plain utterance, and he instantly dismissed the Republican minister, Roland, with his associates, Servan and Clavieres. Roland presented to the Assembly the letter which had caused his dismission. It roused the indignation of the Assembly against the king, and fanned Paris into almost a flame of fury. The letter was printed and copies sent to the eighty-three departments, and a vote was passed that the three ministers whom the king had rejected retained the entire confidence of the nation. This was another accusation against the king, which greatly increased his unpopularity.

The vetos of the king and the dismissal of the popular ministers roused a new storm of indignation. Neither the king nor queen could appear at the windows of the palace without exposing themselves to the most atrocious insults of language and gesture from the brutal men who ever thronged the garden.[325]

The king lost all heart, and sank into the most deplorable condition of mental and physical weakness. For ten days he wandered restlessly through his apartments with a bewildered, vacant stare, without uttering a single word even to his wife and children, and scarcely making any reply to questions addressed to him. His sister, Madame Elizabeth, endeavored to interest him in a game of backgammon. He sat listlessly at the board, mechanically throwing the dice, and simply repeating the words which belong to the game.

"The queen," says Madame Campan, "roused him from this state, so fatal at a critical period, when every minute increased the necessity for action, by throwing herself at his feet, urging every idea calculated to excite alarm, and employing every affectionate expression. She represented, also, what he owed to his family, and went so far as to tell him that, if they were doomed to fall, they ought to fall honorably, and not to wait to be both smothered upon the floor of their apartment."[326]

On the 20th of June there was an immense gathering of the populace of Paris, and of delegates from other parts of the kingdom, to celebrate the anniversary of the meeting in the tennis-court, and to present a petition to the king urging him to withdraw his vetos. Deep apprehensions were felt in several quarters respecting the results of the day. Pétion, who was then mayor of the city, did not venture to prohibit the celebration, but adopted the precaution of doubling the guard of the Tuileries.

Early in the morning the whole city was in commotion, and vast crowds were hurrying to the various points of concentration. The Assembly met at eleven o'clock, and was alarmed in view of the possible issues of the day, and agitated by discordant councils. The session soon became tumultuous, the Constitutionalists wishing to repress the disorder which the Jacobins were ready to foment. In this state of affairs a letter was brought into the Assembly from Santerre, a brewer, who had become notorious as a leader of the populace.[327] It stated that the citizens were merely celebrating the anniversary of the 20th of June; that they were calumniated in the Assembly; and that they beg to be admitted to the bar of the Assembly that they might confound their slanderers.

The reading of this letter vastly increased the tumult. In the midst of cries of order, and a scene of indescribable confusion, it was announced that the petitioners, with arms and banners, in a prolonged procession of thirty thousand men, were approaching the hall. All power of law seemed paralyzed, and bewilderment and consternation reigned. Soon the head of the procession, like a lava-flood, crowded in at the door, and, pressed by the resistless mass behind, was forced slowly through the hall, and made its egress at an opposite portal. They bore enormous tables, upon which were placed the Declaration of Rights. Around these tables danced women and boys waving olive-branches and brandishing pikes, thus emblematically declaring themselves ready for peace or war.

The enormous procession filed slowly through the hall, shouting in deafening chorus the famous "Ça ira" (bravely it goes), armed with every conceivable weapon, and waving banners inscribed with revolutionary devices. Several bore ragged breeches upon poles, while the crowd around shouted, "Vivent les sans culottes!" One man bore on the point of a pike a calf's heart, with the inscription beneath, "The heart of an aristocrat."[328]

For three hours this extraordinary scene continued. The Assembly, agitated with grief and indignation, had no resource but submission. The mob, having passed through the hall of the Assembly, now attempted to enter the garden of the Tuileries, but the gates were closed and defended by numerous detachments of the National Guard. The king, however, perhaps hoping, by a show of confidence, to disarm the mob, ordered the garden gates to be thrown open. The mob, like an inundation, rushed in, and with their mighty mass soon filled the whole inclosure. Some cried out for the king to show himself. Others shouted, "Down with the veto!" A few voices kindly gave utterance to the old excuse, "The king means well, but he is imposed upon."

The mob, which now appeared countless and almost limitless, flowing out from the garden by the gate leading to the Pont Royal, proceeded along the quay and through the wickets of the Louvre into the Place du Carrousel. They were soon gathered in a dense mass before the royal gate of the palace. A strong guard there refused them admittance. Santerre brought up two pieces of cannon to blow down the gate. Two municipal officers then strangely ordered the gates to be thrown open.

The multitude rushed impetuously into the court, filling it in an instant, and crowding into the vestibule of the palace. It was now four o'clock in the afternoon. They clambered the magnificent staircase, even dragging a piece of cannon up to the first floor, and poured in locust legions into every part of the palace. Wherever they found a door barred against them they speedily, with swords and hatchets, hewed it down.

The king was in one of the interior apartments, surrounded by some of the servants of his household and by several officers of the National Guard. His sister, Madame Elizabeth, happened to be with him; but the queen, who was in another room with her children, had not been able to join her husband, so sudden had been the irruption. The crowd arrested her in her flight in the council-chamber. She begged earnestly to be led to her husband, but the throng pouring by was so dense that it was impossible. Her friends placed her in a corner, and rolled the council-table before her as a barrier.

There she stood stupefied with horror, and her eyes suffused with tears, while the low and brutal masses, with no apparent exasperation, end, or aim, crowded by. Her daughter clung to her side, terrified and weeping. Her son, but seven years of age, too young to understand the terrible significance of such an inundation, gazed upon the spectacle with half alarmed, half pleased wonder. Some of the palace-guard gathered around the group for its protection. Occasional scowls and mutterings of defiance and insult alarmed the queen in behalf of her children rather than herself. Some one handed her son the red cap of the Jacobins. The queen, hoping that it might appease the mob, placed it upon his head.

Just then Santerre came along, forcing his way with the crowd. He spoke kindly to the queen, repeating the only excuse which could be made for her, "Madame, you are imposed upon." Seeing the red cap upon the head of the dauphin, he, with a sense of delicacy hardly to be expected in so coarse a man, took it and threw it aside, saying, "The child is stifling." He then urged the people to treat the queen with respect.

A young girl stopped before the queen and assailed her with an incessant volley of imprecations.

"Have I ever," said the queen, calmly, "done you any wrong?"

"No," replied the girl, "not me personally; but you are the cause of the misery of the nation."

"You have been told so," answered the queen; "but you are deceived. As the wife of the King of France and mother of the dauphin, I am a Frenchwoman. I shall never see my own country again. I can be happy only in France. I was happy when you loved me."

These words touched the heart of the passionate but not hardened girl, and she began to weep, saying,

"I ask your pardon. It was because I did not know you. I see that you are good."

While these scenes were transpiring in the council-chamber, the cries of the mob were heard at the door of the king's apartment, and blows from a hatchet fell heavily upon the panels. As a panel, driven by a violent blow, fell at the king's feet, he ordered the door to be thrown open. A forest of pikes and bayonets appeared, and the crowd rushed in. The king, with that courage of resignation which never forsook him, stepped forward with dignity to meet the rabble, and said, "Here I am."

His friends immediately threw themselves around him, forming a rampart with their bodies. The mob, who seemed to have no definite object in view, fell back, and the friends of the king placed him in the embrasure of a window, where he could more easily be protected from the pressure. There was a moment's lull, and then came renewed clamor and uproar. Some said that they had a petition which they wished to present to the king. Others shouted, "No veto! No priests! No aristocrats! The camp near Paris."

The king stood upon a bench, and with marvelous serenity gazed upon the unparalleled spectacle. Légendre, the butcher, one of the leaders of the mob, stepped up, and with a firm voice demanded in the name of the people the sanction of the two decrees which the king had vetoed.[329]

"This is not the place, neither is this the time," answered the king, firmly, "to grant such a request. I will do all the Constitution requires."

This bold answer seemed to exasperate the crowd, and they shouted, as it were defiantly, "Vive la Nation!"

"Yes," replied the king, heroically, "Vive la Nation! and I am its best friend."

"Prove it, then," cried one of the rabble, thrusting toward him, on the end of a pike, the red cap of the Jacobins.

The king took the cap and placed it upon his head. The mob responded with shouts of applause. The day was oppressively hot, and the king, who was very corpulent, was almost suffocated with the heat and the crowd. A drunken fellow, who had a bottle and a glass, staggered up to the king, and offered him a tumbler of wine, saying, "If you love the people, drink to their health."

Though the king had long been apprehensive of being poisoned, he took the glass and without hesitation drank its contents. Again he was greeted with shouts of applause. Some of the crowd, as they caught sight of Madame Elizabeth, cried out, "There is the Austrian woman!" The unpopularity of the queen excited murmurs and imprecations, and the princess was in great danger of violence. Some of her friends around her endeavored to undeceive the mob.

"Leave them," said the generous and heroic princess, "leave them to think that I am the queen, that she may have time to escape."

The Assembly was immediately informed of the invasion of the palace. The Constitutionalists were indignant. The Jacobins were satisfied, for they wished to see the king and the king's party frightened into obedience. An angry and almost furious altercation ensued in the Assembly. A deputation of twenty-four members was, however, immediately sent to surround the king, and this deputation was renewed every half hour. But the deputies could not force their way through the crowd. Hoisted upon the shoulders of the grenadiers they endeavored in vain to harangue the mob to order. It was half past five o'clock, an hour and a half after the attack upon the Tuileries had commenced, before Pétion, the Mayor of Paris, made his appearance in the presence of the king. He attempted an apology for coming so late, saying,

"I have only just learned the situation of your majesty."

"That is very astonishing," replied the king, "for it is a long time that it has lasted."

"It was half past four," Pétion rejoined, "when I heard of the attack. It took me half an hour to get to the palace; and I could not overcome the obstacles which separated me from your majesty until the present moment. But fear nothing, sire; you are in the midst of your people."

Louis XVI., taking the hand of a grenadier who stood by his side, placed it upon his heart, saying, "Feel whether it beats quicker than usual."

This noble answer again elicited applause. The mayor then, mounting the shoulders of four grenadiers, addressed the mob, urging them to retire.

"Citizens, male and female," said he, "you have used with moderation and dignity your right of petition. You will finish this day as you begun it. Hitherto your conduct has been in conformity with the law, and now, in the name of the law, I call upon you to follow my example and to retire."

The crowd obeyed and slowly moved off through the long suite of apartments of the chateau. As soon as they began to retire the king and his sister threw themselves into each other's arms, and neither was able to repress a flood of tears. Locked in an embrace they left the room to find the queen. She, with her children, had just regained her apartment. The meeting of the royal family, after these scenes of violence, insult, and terror, drew tears into the eyes of all the beholders. One of the deputies, Antoine Merlin of Thionville, though one of the most virulent of the Jacobins, could not refrain from weeping. Marie Antoinette observing it, and knowing his bitter hostility to the court, said,

"You weep to see the king and his family treated so cruelly by a people whom he has always wished to render happy."

"It is true, madam," replied Merlin, "I weep over the misfortunes of a beautiful, tender-hearted woman and mother of a family. But do not mistake; there is not one of my tears for the king or the queen; I hate kings and queens."

At this moment the king, from the reflection of a mirror, saw the red bonnet still upon his head. A crimson glow flushed his face and he hastily threw the badge of the Jacobin from him. Sinking into a chair he for a moment buried his face in his handkerchief, and then, turning a saddened look to the queen, said,

"Ah, madame, why did I take you from your country to associate you with the ignominy of such a day!"

It was eight o'clock in the evening before the apartments and corridors of the palace ceased to echo with the voices and the footsteps of the barbarian invaders. Detachments of the National Guard gradually assembled, the court-yard and the garden were cleared, and night with its silence and darkness again settled down over the wretched royal family in the halls of their palace, and the wretched famishing outcasts wandering through the streets. Such was the 20th of June, 1792.

Napoleon Bonaparte, then twenty-two years of age, was in Paris, and with indignation witnessed this spectacle of lawlessness. Bourrienne thus describes the event: "In the month of April, 1792, I returned to Paris, where I again met Bonaparte, and renewed the friendship of our youthful days. I had not been fortunate, and adversity pressed heavily upon him. We passed our time as two young men of three and twenty may be supposed to have done who had little money and less occupation. At this time he was soliciting employment from the Minister of War, and I at the office of foreign affairs.

"While we were thus spending our time the 20th of June arrived, a sad prelude of the 10th of August. We met by appointment at a restaurateur's, in the Rue St. Honoré, near the Palais Royal. On going out we saw a mob approaching in the direction of the market-place, which Bonaparte estimated at from five to six thousand men. They were a parcel of blackguards, armed with weapons of every description, and shouting the grossest abuse, while they proceeded at a rapid rate toward the Tuileries. This mob appeared to consist of the vilest and most profligate of the population of the suburbs.

"'Let us follow the rabble,' said Bonaparte. We got the start of them, and took up our station on the terrace bordering on the river. It was there that he was an eye-witness of the scandalous scenes which ensued, and it would be difficult to describe the surprise and indignation which they excited in him. Such weakness and forbearance, he said, could not be excused. But when the king showed himself at the window which looked out upon the garden, with the red cap which one of the mob had just placed upon his head, he could no longer repress his indignation.

"'What madness!' he loudly exclaimed. 'How could they have allowed that rabble to enter? Why did they not sweep away four or five hundred of them with the cannon? The rest would then have speedily taken to their heels.'"

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 317: At the moment of Leopold's death all was ready for hostilities. Two hundred thousand men were under arms for the invasion. The Duke of Brunswick, who was placed in command, was at Berlin receiving the final commands of the king. Another Prussian general was at Vienna receiving from Leopold advice as to the time and point of attack. Leopold, whose constitution was shattered by debauchery, was taken suddenly sick, and, after two days of excruciating pain, died in convulsions. His death was probably caused by an immoderate use of drugs to recruit his system, enervated by dissipation. This event for a short time paralyzed the energies of the coalition. See History of the Girondists, by Lamartine, vol. i., p. 364.]

[Footnote 318: Memoirs of Count Mathieu Dumas, vol. i., p. 190.]

[Footnote 319: Dumouriez's Memoirs, book iii., ch. vi. Madame Campan gives an account of this interview with a little different coloring. "One day," she writes, "I found the queen in extreme agitation. She told me that she knew not what to do; that the leaders of the Jacobins had offered themselves to her through Dumouriez, or that Dumouriez, forsaking the party of the Jacobins, had come and offered himself to her; that she had given him an audience; that, being alone with her, he had thrown himself at her feet, and told her that he had put on the red cap, and even pulled it down over his ears, but that he neither was, nor ever could be, a Jacobin; that the Revolution had been suffered to roll on to that mob of disorganizers, who, aspiring only to pillage, were capable of every thing. While speaking with extreme warmth, he had taken hold of the queen's hand and kissed it with transport, saying, 'Allow yourself to be saved.' The queen told me that it was impossible to believe the protestations of a traitor; that all his conduct was so well known that the wisest plan was not to trust in him, and, besides, the princes earnestly recommended that no confidence should be placed in any proposal from the interior."--Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 202.]

[Footnote 320: Francis was not yet elected Emperor of Germany.]

[Footnote 321: Condorcet, in a paper which he drew up in exposition of the motives which led to this strife, says, "The veil which concealed the intentions of our enemy is at length torn. Citizens, which of you could subscribe to these ignominious proposals? Feudal servitude and a humiliating inequality; bankruptcy and taxes which you alone would pay; tithes and the Inquisition; your possessions, bought upon the public faith, restored to their former usurpers; the beasts of the chase re-established in their right of ravaging your fields; your blood profusely spilled for the ambitious projects of a hostile house--such are the conditions of the treaty between the King of Hungary and perfidious Frenchmen! Such is the peace which is offered to you! No! never will you accept it!"--Exposition of the motives which determined the National Assembly to decree, on the formal proposal of the King, that there is reason to declare war against the King of Hungary and Bohemia, by M. Condorcet.]

[Footnote 322: Prof. Wm. Smyth, of the University of Cambridge, England, though cherishing no sympathies with the revolutionary party in France, in his admirable lectures upon the French Revolution, with his accustomed candor, says,

"The question then is, Was this (the conduct of Austria) an interference in the internal affairs of France that justified a declaration of war on the part of France or not? This is a point on which, under the extraordinary circumstances of the case, reasoners may differ, but I conceive that it was. The rulers of France, at the time, saw themselves menaced, stigmatized, and, as nearly as possible, proscribed by a foreign power on account of their conduct to their own king, in their own country. They could expect nothing but exile, imprisonment, and death if these foreign powers invaded their country in defense of the monarchy and succeeded; and not only this, but, in that case, a counter-revolution was inevitable.

"I must confess that, with all my horror of war, of counsels of violence, of enthusiastic and furious men like these Girondists, and of dreadful and guilty men like these Jacobins, I must confess that upon this particular point of the Austrian war I am, on the whole, compelled to agree with them. I see not how, upon any other principle, the peace of the world can be maintained, or the proper sovereignty and independence of nations be preserved, nor, finally, upon any other principle, what chance there can ever be for the general cause of the freedom of mankind."]

[Footnote 323: Dumas, vol. i., p. 213.]

[Footnote 324: Memoirs of Dumouriez.]

[Footnote 325: "The most menacing cries were uttered aloud, even in the Tuileries. They called for the destruction of the throne and the murder of the sovereign. These insults assumed the character of the very lowest of the mob. The queen, one day, hearing roars of laughter under her windows, desired me to see what it was about. I saw a man, almost undressed, turning his back toward her apartments. My astonishment and indignation were apparent. The queen rose to come forward. I held her back, telling her it was a very gross insult offered by one of the rabble."--Memoirs of Marie Antoinette, by Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 205.]

[Footnote 326: Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 206.]

[Footnote 327: Montjoie, one of the most decided of Royalist writers, thus describes Santerre: "The muscular expansion of his tall person, the sonorous hoarseness of his voice, his rough manners, and his easy and vulgar eloquence, of course made him a hero among the lower rabble. And, in truth, he had gained a despotic empire over the dregs of the faubourgs. He moved them at will, but that was all he knew how to do, or could do, for, as to the rest, he was neither wicked nor cruel. He engaged blindly in all conspiracies, but he never was guilty of the execution of them, either by himself or by those who obeyed him. He was always concerned for an unfortunate person, of whatever party he might be. Affliction and tears disarmed his hands."--History of Marie Antoinette, by Montjoie, p. 295.]

[Footnote 328: Madame Campan says, "There was one representing a gibbet, to which a dirty doll was suspended; the words 'Marie Antoinette à la lanterne' were written beneath it. Another was a board to which a bullock's heart was fastened, with an inscription round it, 'Heart of Louis XVI.;' and then a third showed the horns of an ox, with an obscene legend."--Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 212.]

[Footnote 329: Léegendre was a butcher of Paris. He was one of the most violent leaders of the mob. In 1791 he was deputed by the city of Paris to the National Convention. In 1793 he voted for the king's death, and, the day before his execution, proposed to the Jacobins to cut him into eighty-four pieces, and send one to each of the eighty-four departments. He died at Paris in 1797, aged forty-one, and bequeathed his body to the surgeons, "in order to be useful to mankind after his death."--Biographie Moderne.]

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XXVI. THE THRONE ASSAILED

Angry Interview between the King and the Mayor.--Decisive Action of La Fayette.--Expectations of the Queen.--Movement of the Prussian Army.--Efforts of the Priests.--Secret Committee of Royalists.--Terror in the Palace.--The Queen's View of the King's Character.--Parties in France.--Energetic Action of the Assembly.--Speech of Vergniaud.

The next day after the fearful scenes of the 20th of June, the Assembly held a very tumultuous sitting. Various measures were proposed to prevent a repetition of armed petitions, and the filing of processions through the hall. The Jacobins were, however, in sympathy with the mob; and the Royalists, waiting the approach of foreign armies, had no wish to introduce order but by the sword of invasion. It was apprehended that the mob, who had now risen above the power of law, might again invade the palace. In the afternoon of the 21st, crowds began to assemble at various points, but the mayor, Pétion, succeeded in inducing them to disperse. He then hastened to the king, and said to him,

"Sire, there is no longer cause for alarm. Order is restored. The people have become tranquil and satisfied."

The king, who now appreciated the peril of his position, was exasperated, and replied, with suppressed emotion, "That is not true."

"Sire--" rejoined Pétion.

"Be silent," said the king sternly, interrupting him.

"It befits not the magistrate of the people," replied Pétion, "to be silent when he does his duty and speaks the truth."

"The tranquillity of Paris rests on your head," added the king.

"I know my duty," Pétion replied, "and shall perform it."

The king could no longer restrain himself, and passionately exclaimed, "Enough; go and perform it. Retire."

Pétion, thus summarily turned out of doors, bowed and left. The report of the angry interview was speedily spread through Paris. It was rumored through the palace that the mob were preparing to rise to murder the king and all the royal family. It was rumored through the streets that the Royalists were endeavoring to provoke the people to rise, that they might shoot them down with artillery. The mayor issued a proclamation urging the people not to allow themselves to be excited to fresh commotions. The king issued a proclamation, spirited and defiant in its tone, and yet calculated only to exasperate those whom he had no power to restrain.[330]

La Fayette, who was at this time with his division of the army on the frontiers, heard these tidings from Paris with intense alarm. Had the court not prevented his election as mayor, the outrages of the 20th of June could not have occurred. His only hope for France was in the Constitution. The invasion of the Legislative Assembly by the mob, the irruption into the palace, and the outrages inflicted upon the royal family, impressed him with shame and horror. He saw the terrific reign of anarchy approaching, and was fully conscious that no one could attempt to resist the popular torrent but at the peril of his life. He wrote a very earnest letter of remonstrance to the Assembly, and resolved to hasten immediately to Paris, and to brave every possible danger in endeavoring to restore to his country the dominion of law. Making all the arrangements in his power, that his temporary absence might not be detrimental to the military operations then in progress, he set out for the capital, and arrived there on the 28th of June.[331] He thought that he might rely upon the National Guard to aid him in maintaining the Constitution, and that, throwing himself into the breach to save the monarchy and the king, he might place some reliance upon the co-operation of the court. But the court hated La Fayette and constitutional liberty, and wished for no assistance but from the armies of the allies, through whom they might dictate terms to the re-enslaved people.

La Fayette, immediately upon his arrival in Paris, sent a message to the Assembly that he wished for permission to address them. At half-past one of the 28th of June, he entered the hall. The Constitutionalists received him with plaudits. The Republicans, both the Girondists and the Jacobins, were silent. The general, in his bold and spirited address, spoke of the disgrace which the outrages of the 20th of June had brought upon the nation, and the indignation which it had excited in the army, and urged that the instigators of the riot should be prosecuted; that the Jacobin Club, ever urging violence and revolution, should be suppressed; and that the Constitution and the laws should be maintained by all the armed force of the government.

This speech introduced an angry debate, in which La Fayette was reproached with neglecting his own duties in the army to meddle with matters in which he had no concern. La Fayette left the Assembly in the midst of the debate, and repaired to the palace to see what assistance he could render to the king and queen. The courtiers surrounding the monarch, with their wonted infatuation, assailed La Fayette with the most abusive epithets. The king and queen received him with great coldness, and refused to accept from him of any sympathy or aid.

"If the court and the people attached to the king," writes the Marquis de Ferrières, a decided Royalist, "had but resolved to support La Fayette, there was force to have annihilated the two factions. But the queen recoiled from any idea of owing her safety to a man whom she had resolved to ruin. They refused to enter into his views, and they thus rejected the only means of safety that Providence offered them. Inexplicable blindness, if an explanation were not afforded by the approaching entry of the foreign troops and the confidence reposed in them."

The historian Toulongeon, describing these events, says, "Retired to his hotel, La Fayette set himself to consider what was the force of which he could avail himself. A review of the first division of the National Guard was fixed for the next morning at break of day. The king was to pass along the line, and La Fayette was then to harangue the troops. But the mayor, Pétion, was advertised of their movements by the queen, who feared the success of La Fayette even more than that of the Jacobins, and a counter-order was given, and the review did not take place."

La Fayette returned to the army thwarted and disheartened. His retirement in despair from Paris was the last expiring sigh of the Constitutional party. From this moment the Jacobins resolved upon his destruction, and that very evening his effigy was burned at the Palais Royal. Bertrand de Moleville, one of the most false and envenomed of the Royalist writers, condemns La Fayette for thus leaving Paris. But even Professor Smyth, whose English sympathies are strongly with the court, exclaims,

"M. Bertrand de Moleville may surely be asked, on this occasion, what resource was left for La Fayette but to move away from Paris, if the king and the court, for whom he was hazarding both his fame and his safety, would not honor him with the slightest countenance? Was it to be endured that they were to seem neutral and indifferent, at the least, and sitting with folded arms, while he was to be left to rush into a combat in the Assembly and in the streets of Paris with their furious and murderous enemies, and with the men who had just been assailing the king in his palace, and who evidently only waited for an opportunity to rob him of his crown and take away his life; was this, I repeat, to be endured? Many are the sensations by which the heart of man may be alienated and imbittered, but there are few more fitted for that purpose than to find indifference to services offered, and ingratitude for sacrifices made."[332]

Both the king and the queen knew that Prussia had already combined with Austria, and was secretly marching an army of eighty thousand men under the Duke of Brunswick to unite with the emigrants at Coblentz. The queen thought that the allies would be in Paris in six weeks. She was minutely informed of their contemplated movements; when they would be at Verdun, when at Lille; and she, in confidence, informed her ladies that she expected to be rescued in a month.[333]

The peril of France was now truly great, and the patriots were deeply agitated. Foreign armies were approaching. The king not only was taking no effectual measures for the defense of the kingdom, but had vetoed the decrees of the Assembly raising an army for the protection of the capital, and was also believed to be in sympathy and in traitorous correspondence with the foe. France was threatened with invasion, and the court of France was virtually guiding the march of the invading armies, weakening every point of defense, and striving to betray the patriot forces into the hands of the enemy. The only excuse which history can offer for the king is, that he was the tool of others, and so weak and characterless that he was unconscious of the enormity of his crime. But this excuse, which ought to have commended him to pity, could not be an argument for maintaining him upon his throne.

Though it was well known to all intelligent men that the Prussian armies were marching to unite with the Austrian for the invasion of France, yet the king, in grossest violation of duty, had made no communication of the fact to the Legislative Assembly. All the great roads were crowded with priests, nobles, and their partisans, hastening to join the emigrants at Coblentz. Couriers were every where traversing Europe, from St. Petersburg to Rome, from Stockholm to Madrid, from Berlin to Naples, openly announcing the coalition of all Europe to crush the revolution in France, and declaring that the armies would move in such force that the French would not be able to resist them for a single month. The allies were not unwilling to have their plans known and even exaggerated, for some of them hoped that the terror of the threat might be sufficient to drive the French patriots to submission.[334]

It was consequently proclaimed, not officially, but with great soundings of trumpets, that Spain was to indemnify herself for the war by taking possession of the four beautiful southern provinces of France which lean against the Pyrenees--Navarre, Roussillon, Languedoc, and Guienne. The King of Sardinia was to receive the provinces adjacent to his kingdom, whose romantic valleys penetrated the lower Alps--Dauphiny, Provence, Lyonnois, and Bretagne. The Stadtholder of Holland was to extend his sway over the Provinces of Flanders and Picardy. Austria was to grasp the provinces adjoining the Rhine--Alsace, Lorraine, Champagne. The Swiss were offered Franche Comte if they would join the coalition. And, finally, England was to regain her old possession of Normandy, and was to seize all the colonial possessions of France in the two Indies.[335]

Though the British government was at this time strongly in sympathy with the coalition, it did not venture openly to join the alliance, for the masses of the British people were cordially with the French patriots and rejoiced in the establishment of constitutional liberty in France. These extravagant threats filled Europe. It was every where assumed that only a small minority of the French people were opposed to the Old Régime, and that the mass of the nation would at once arise and welcome the invading armies.

With this terrific storm from without menacing the liberties of France, a large number of priests who had refused to accept the Constitution were plying all the energies of the most potent superstition earth has ever known to rouse the ignorant peasantry against civil and religious liberty. They were told that eternal damnation was their inevitable doom if they were not willing to lay down their lives in defense of the king and the Pope; and that eternal blessedness was the sure inheritance of all who should labor and pray for holy mother Church. The queen, it was well known, was in constant conference with the enemy, counseling, encouraging, and aiding with all the pecuniary means she could obtain from the revenues of France. The king was a weak-minded, fickle man, with no decision of his own, and entirely at the disposal of those who surrounded him. Being quite in subjection to the imperial mind of the queen, he delayed adopting any vigorous measure to repel the approaching foe, thwarted the decrees of the Assembly, and allowed his own enormous salary of six millions of dollars to be appropriated by the queen and her counselors to hasten the march of foreign invaders upon Paris.

In the very palace of the Tuileries a secret committee of old Royalists were in session every day, planning for the enemy, informing them of all the movements in Paris, advising them as to the best points of attack, and organizing, in different parts of the empire, their partisans to rise in civil war the moment the first thunderings of hostile artillery should be heard upon the plains of France. Here surely was a combination of wrong and outrage sufficient to drive any people mad.[336]

During the whole month of July the interior of the palace was the abode of terror. The inmates, apprehensive every hour of attack, had no repose by day or night. Almost daily there was an alarm that the mob was gathering. "During the whole month," writes Madame Campan, "I was never once in bed. I always dreaded some night attack. One morning, about one o'clock, footsteps were heard in the anteroom of the queen's chamber, and then a violent struggle and loud outcries, as the groom of the chambers grasped a man who was stealthily approaching with a dagger, apparently to assassinate the queen."

"I begin to fear," said the queen one day, "that they will bring the king to a trial. Me they will assassinate. But what will become of our poor children? If they assassinate me, so much the better; they will rid me of an existence that is painful."

"One morning, at about four o'clock, near the close of July," writes Madame Campan, "a person came to give me information that the Faubourg St. Antoine was preparing to march against the palace. We knew that at least an hour must elapse before the populace, assembled upon the site of the Bastille, could reach the Tuileries. It seemed to me sufficient for the queen's safety that all about her should be awakened. I went softly into her room. She was asleep. I did not awaken her.

"The king had been awakened, and so had Madame Elizabeth, who had gone to him. The queen, yielding to the weight of her griefs, slept till nine o'clock on that day, which was very unusual with her. The king had already been to know whether she was awake. I told him what I had done, and the care I had taken not to disturb her rest. He thanked me, and said,

"'I was awake, and so was the whole palace. She ran no risk. I am very glad to see her take a little rest. Alas! her griefs double mine.'

"What was my chagrin, when the queen, awaking and learning what had passed, began to weep bitterly from regret at not having been called. In vain did I reiterate that it was only a false alarm, and that she required to have her strength recruited.

"'My strength is not exhausted,' said she; 'misfortune gives us additional strength. Elizabeth was with the king, and I was asleep! I, who am determined to perish by his side. I am his wife. I will not suffer him to incur the smallest risk without my sharing it.'"

The queen appears to have understood very perfectly the character of her dejected, spiritless, long-suffering husband. "The king," said she, "is not a coward. He possesses abundance of passive courage, but he is overwhelmed by an awkward shyness, a mistrust of himself, which proceeds from his education as much as from his disposition. He is afraid to command, and, above all things, dreads speaking to assembled numbers. He lived like a child, and always ill at ease, under the eyes of Louis XV., until the age of twenty-one. This constraint confirmed his timidity. Circumstanced as we are, a few well-delivered words addressed to the Parisians would multiply the strength of our party a hundred-fold. He will not utter them. What can be expected from those addresses to the people which he has been advised to post up? Nothing but fresh outrages. As for myself, I could do any thing, and would appear on horseback if necessary; but, if I really were to begin to act, that would be furnishing arms to the king's enemies. The cry against the Austrian, and against the sway of a female, would become general in France, and, moreover, by showing myself I should render the king a mere nothing. A queen who is not regent ought, under these circumstances, to remain passive or to die."[337]

There were now three prominent parties in France. First, the Royalists, with the queen and the court, controlling the ever-vacillating king, at their head. They were plotting, through foreign armies and civil war, to restore the political and ecclesiastical despotism of the Old Régime. This party would have been utterly powerless but for the aid of foreign despots. Second came the Constitutional party, with La Fayette at its head. The king professed to belong to this party, and at times, perhaps, with sincerity, but, overruled by others, he conducted with a degree of feebleness and fickleness which amounted to treachery. This party had originally embraced nearly the whole nation. Never did a nobler set of men undertake national reform than were the leaders of the French Revolution. They sought only the happiness of France, were anxious for peace with all nations, were decidedly conservative in their views. They had no desire to overthrow the French monarchy, but wished only to limit that monarchy by a Constitution which should secure to the nation civil and religious liberty.

But the Constitutional party was now daily growing weaker, simply because its best friends saw that it was impossible to maintain the Constitution while the king himself was co-operating with foreign armies for its overthrow. Why should the people sustain a king, and furnish him with a salary of five millions of dollars a year, only to enable him to overthrow the Constitution and reinstate the rejected despotism? Thus were thousands of the purest men in France driven with great reluctance to the conviction that constitutional liberty could only be preserved by dethroning the king and establishing a republic. They were originally decidedly in favor of a constitutional monarchy. They felt that the transition was altogether too great and too sudden from utter despotism to republican freedom. The vast mass of the peasant population in France could neither read nor write. They were totally unacquainted with the forms of popular government. They were as ignorant as children, and almost entirely under the tutelage of the priests, to whom they believed that the keys of heaven and of hell had been intrusted. The establishment of republican forms would render France still more obnoxious to surrounding monarchies, and therefore they had wished to maintain the monarchy, and they took the British Constitution and not the American republic as their model, wishing, however, to infuse more of the popular element into their Constitution than has been admitted into the aristocratic institutions of England.

But now they found, to their surprise and grief, that all Europe was combining against their liberties, and that the king, instead of being grateful that his throne was preserved to him, was lamenting his loss of despotic power, and was co-operating with combined Europe for the re-enslavement of France. This left the friends of liberty no alternative. They must either hold out their hands to have the irons riveted upon them anew, or they must dethrone the king, rouse the nation to repel invasion, and attempt the fearful experiment of a republican government with a nation turbulent, unenlightened, and totally unaccustomed to self-control. In the old despotism there was no hope. It presented but poverty, chains, and despair. In republicanism, with all its perils, there was at least hope. Hence arose republicanism. It was the child of necessity. In the Constituent Assembly not an individual was to be found who advocated a republic.[338] But after the flight of the king to Varennes, republican sentiments, as the only hope of the nation, rapidly gained ground, and at the very commencement of the Legislative Assembly we see that a republican party is already organized. From the beginning there were two divisions of this party--the conservative republicans, called Girondists, because their leaders were from the department of the Gironde; and the radical democrats, called Jacobins from the hall where the club held its meeting.

All France was now in a state of alarm. The Assembly passed a very solemn decree announcing that the country is in danger. It declared its sitting to be permanent, that the king might not dissolve it. All the citizens were required to give up their arms that they might be suitably distributed to the defenders of the country. Every man, old and young, capable of bearing arms was ordered to be enrolled in the National Guards for the public defense. M. Vergniaud, the leader of the Girondists, a man of exalted virtue and of marvelous powers of eloquence, concluded a speech which roused the enthusiasm of the whole Assembly by proposing a firm but respectful message to Louis XVI., which should oblige him to choose between France and foreigners, and which should teach him that the French were resolved to perish or triumph with the Constitution.

"It is in the name of the king," said Vergniaud, "that the French princes have endeavored to raise up Europe against us. It is to avenge the dignity of the king that the treaty of Pilnitz has been concluded. It is to come to the aid of the king that the sovereign of Hungary and Bohemia makes war upon us, and that Prussia is marching toward our frontiers. Now, I read in the Constitution,

"'If the king puts himself at the head of an army and directs its forces against the nation, or if he does not oppose by a formal act an enterprise of this kind, that may be executed in his name, he shall be considered as having abdicated royalty.'

"What is a formal act of opposition? If one hundred thousand Austrians were marching toward Flanders, and one hundred thousand Prussians toward Alsace, and the king were to oppose to them ten or twenty thousand men, would he have done a formal act of opposition? If the king, whose duty it is to notify us of imminent hostilities, apprised of the movements of the Prussian army, were not to communicate any information upon the subject to the National Assembly; if a camp of reserve necessary for stopping the progress of the enemy into the interior were proposed, and the king were to substitute in its stead an uncertain plan which it would take a long time to execute; if the king were to leave the command of an army to an intriguing general (La Fayette) of whom the nation was suspicious. If another general (Luckner) familiar with victory were to demand a re-enforcement, and the king were by a refusal to say to him, I forbid thee to conquer, could it be asserted that the king had performed a formal act of opposition.

"If while France were swimming in blood the king were to say to you, 'It is true that the enemies pretend to be acting for me, for my dignity, for my rights, but I have proved that I am not the accomplice. I have sent armies into the field; these armies were too weak, but the Constitution does not fix the degree of their force. I have assembled them too late; but the Constitution does not fix the time for collecting them. I have stopped a general who was on the point of conquering, but the Constitution does not order victories. I have had ministers who deceived the Assembly and disorganized the government, but their appointment belonged to me. The Assembly has passed useful decrees which I have not sanctioned, but I had a right to act so. I have done all that the Constitution enjoined me. It is therefore impossible to doubt my fidelity to it.'

"If the king were to hold this language would you not have a right to reply, 'O king, who, like Lysander, the tyrant, have believed that truth was not worth more than falsehood, who have feigned a love for the laws, merely to preserve the power which enabled you to defy them--was it defending us to oppose to the foreign soldiers forces whose inferiority left not even uncertainty as to their defeat? Was it defending us to thwart plans tending to fortify the interior? Was it defending us not to check a general who violated the Constitution, but to enchain the courage of those who were serving it? No! no! man, in whom the generosity of the French has excited no corresponding feeling, insensible to every thing but the love of despotism, you are henceforth nothing to that Constitution which you have so unworthily violated, nothing to that people which you have so basely betrayed.'"

This was the first time any one had ventured to speak in the Assembly of the forfeiture of the crown, though it was a common topic in the journals and in the streets. The speech of Vergniaud was received with vehement applause. The king, alarmed, immediately sent a message to the Assembly informing them that Prussia had allied her troops with those of Austria in their march upon France. This message, thus tardily extorted, was received by the Assembly with a smile of contempt.

It was now manifest, beyond all dispute, that the foe of French liberty most to be dreaded was the king and the court. M. Brissot, who had been the bosom friend and the ardent eulogist of La Fayette, could no longer sustain the king. Ascending the tribune he gave bold utterance to the sentiment of the nation.

"Our peril," said he, "exceeds all that past ages have witnessed. The country is in danger, not because we are in want of troops--not because those troops want courage. No! it is in danger because its force is paralyzed. And who has paralyzed it. A man--one man, the man whom the Constitution has made its chief, and whom perfidious advisers have made its foe. You are told to fear the Kings of Prussia and Hungary; I say the chief force of those kings is at the court, and it is there we must first conquer them. They tell you to strike at the dissentient priests. I tell you to strike at the Tuileries, and fell all the priests with a single blow. You are told to persecute all factious and intriguing conspirators. They will all disappear if you knock loud enough at the door of the Cabinet of the Tuileries; for that cabinet is the point to which all these threads tend, where every scheme is plotted, and whence every impulse proceeds. This is the secret of our position; this is the source of the evil, and here the remedy must be applied."[339]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 330: "Immediately after the 20th of June," writes Madame Campan, "the queen lost all hope but from foreign succors. She wrote to implore her own family, and the brothers of the king; and her letters became probably more and more pressing, and expressed her fears from the tardy manner in which the succors seemed to approach."--Memoirs of Marie Antoinette, by Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 214.]

[Footnote 331: "Marshal Luckner blamed extremely the intention La Fayette announced of repairing to Paris, 'because,' said he, 'the sans culottes (ragamuffins) will cut off his head.' But as this was the sole objection he made, the general resolved to set out alone."--La Fayette's Memoirs.]

[Footnote 332: Lectures on the French Revolution, vol. ii., p. 296. "The queen and the court," writes Prof. Smyth, "could never endure La Fayette, as having been the first great mover and originator of the Revolution; the cause, as he thought, of the liberties of his country, but a cause with which they unfortunately had no sympathy."

"The queen said to me," writes Madame Campan, "that La Fayette was offered to them as a resource, but that it would be better for them to perish than to owe their safety to a man who had done them the most mischief, or to place themselves under the necessity of treating with him."--Mémoires of Marie Antoinette, by Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 223.]

[Footnote 333: Thiers, vol. i., p. 278.]

[Footnote 334: "The king had committed himself, on the subject of the Constitution, to the allied powers, in the instructions he had given to Mallet du Pan, and was no longer at liberty, even if he had been disposed, on account of any such object as the Constitution, to have united himself with La Fayette, not even though La Fayette was endeavoring to accomplish the great point, of all others to be most desired, the overthrow of the Girondists and the Jacobins. On the whole, the court must be considered as now preferring the chance of the invasion of the allied powers, and the king the chance of some mediation between them and the people of France, that is, the chance of better terms than the Constitution offered. This must, I think, be supposed the line of policy that was now adopted. It was one full of danger, and, on the whole, a mistake; but with the expectation that was then so generally entertained of the certain success of the allied powers, a mistake not unnatural."--Prof. Smyth's Lectures, vol. ii., p. 295.]

[Footnote 335: Hist. Phil. de la Rev. de Fr., par Ant. Fantin Desodoards, t. ii., p. 45.]

[Footnote 336: "A court apparently in concert with the enemy resorted to no means for augmenting the armies and exciting the nation, but, on the contrary, employed the veto to thwart the measures of the legislative body, and the civil list (the king's salary) to secure partisans in the interior."--Thiers, vol. i., p. 280.]

[Footnote 337: Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 230.]

[Footnote 338: "It becomes evident that a republic was desired only from despair of the monarchy, that it never was a fixed fact, and that, on the very eve of attaining it, those who were accused of having long paved the way to it, would not sacrifice the public weal for its sake, but would have consented to a constitutional monarchy, if it were accompanied with sufficient safeguards."--Thiers, vol. i., p. 308.]

[Footnote 339: M. Brissot was a lawyer of considerable literary distinction, who, when but twenty years of age, had been imprisoned in the Bastille for some of his political writings. He was a passionate admirer of the Americans, and despairing, in consequence of the fickleness or treachery of the king, of a constitutional monarchy, endeavored to secure for France a republic. About a year from the time of the above speech he perished with the rest of the Girondists upon the scaffold.--Biographe Moderne.]

Spotted a typo or a problem in this chapter? Tell us

XXVII. THE THRONE DEMOLISHED

The Country proclaimed in Danger.--Plan of La Fayette for the Safety of the Royal Family.--Measures of the Court.--Celebration of the Demolition of the Bastille.--Movement of the Allied Army.--Conflicting Plans of the People.--Letter of the Girondists to the King.--Manifesto of the Duke of Brunswick.--Unpopularity of La Fayette.--The Attack upon the Tuileries, Aug. 10th.--The Royal Family take Refuge in the Assembly.

The danger to which the country was exposed had now united Constitutionalists and Republicans, or rather had compelled most of the Constitutionalists to become Republicans. A patriotic bishop, whose soul was glowing with the spirit of true Christian fraternity, addressed the Assembly in an appeal so moving, that, like reconciled brothers, the two parties rushed into each other's arms to unite in the defense of that liberty which was equally dear to them all.

On the 11th of July the solemn proclamation was made with great pomp through the streets of Paris and of France, that the country was in danger. Minute guns were fired all the day. The bells tolled, and the reveille was beat in all quarters of the city summoning the National Guard to their posts. A cavalcade of horse paraded the streets with a large banner containing the inscription, Citizens, the country is in danger. At all the principal places the cortège? halted and the legislative decree was read. Rendezvous were established in all parts of the city for the enlistment of volunteers. Unparalleled enthusiasm pervaded all classes. In Paris alone fifteen thousand were enrolled the first day.

Petitions were poured in upon the Assembly from all parts of the empire declaring that the king had forfeited the crown, and demanding his dethronement. This sudden change, these bold utterances, threw the court into consternation. The king's life now was in imminent peril, and he resolved if possible to effect his escape. Several plans were suggested which seemed to him, with his constitutional feebleness of purpose, too hazardous to be undertaken. La Fayette, with generous credulity, still tried to believe the king sincere in his acceptance of constitutional liberty, and he proposed a plan which would have saved the king and would have saved France had there been a particle of sincerity in the bosom of the monarch. It was most noble in La Fayette thus to forget the insults he had received from the court, and to peril his life in the endeavor to save a family who had only loaded him with injuries. His plan, boldly conceived, was as patriotic as it was humane, and needed but sincerity on the part of the king to secure its triumphant execution. It was an amiable weakness on the part of La Fayette still to believe that the king could by any possibility be led to espouse the Revolution. His proposition was briefly this:

"General Luckner and I," said he to the king, "will come to Paris to attend the celebration of the demolition of the Bastille on the 14th of July. In company with us, the next day, the king with his family shall visit Compiègne, fifty miles north of Paris. The people will have sufficient confidence in us to make no opposition. Should there be opposition we will have a sufficient force of dragoons at hand to strike by surprise and release you. Ten squadrons of horse-artillery shall there receive the monarch and conduct him to the army on the frontiers. The king shall then issue a decided proclamation forbidding his brothers and the emigrants to advance another step toward the invasion of France, declaring, in terms which can not be misinterpreted, his determination to maintain the Constitution, and announcing his readiness to place himself at the head of the army to repel the enemy. This decisive measure will satisfy France that the king is its friend not its foe. The allies can make no headway against France united under its monarch. The king can then return triumphant to Paris, amid the universal acclamations of the people, a constitutional monarch beloved and revered by his subjects."[340]

This was the wisest course which, under the circumstances, could possibly have been pursued. It was constitutional. It would have been the salvation of the king and of France. Many of the king's personal friends entreated him, with tears, to repose confidence in La Fayette, and to comply with the counsels of the only man who could rescue him from destruction. But the fickle-minded king was now in the hands of the queen and the courtiers, and was guided at their pleasure. All their hopes were founded in the re-establishment of despotism by foreign invasion. The generous plan of La Fayette was rejected with a cold and almost insulting repulse.

"The best advice," replied the king, "which can be given to La Fayette is to continue to serve as a bugbear to the factions by the able performance of his duty as a general."

The queen was so confident that in a few weeks the allied armies would be in Paris, and that any acts of disrespect on the part of the people would only tend to hasten their march, that when Colombe, the aid-de-camp of La Fayette, remonstrated against the infatuation of so fatal a decision, she replied, "We are much obliged to your general for his offer, but the best thing which could happen to us would be to be confined for two months in a tower."

When La Fayette was thus periling his life to save the royal family he knew that, by the queen's orders, pamphlets filled with calumny were composed against him, and were paid for out of the king's salary.[341]

The court was secretly and very energetically recruiting defenders for the approaching crisis. They had assembled at the Tuileries a regiment of Swiss mercenaries, amounting to about a thousand men, who, under rigid military discipline, would be faithful to the king. A large number of general and subaltern officers, strong royalists, were provided with lodgings in Paris, awaiting any emergence. Several hundred royalist gentlemen from the provinces, in chivalrous devotion to the monarchy, were residing in hotels near the Tuileries, always provided with concealed weapons, and with cards which gave them admission at any hour into the palace. Secret bodies of loyalists were organized in the city, who were also ready to rush, at a given signal, to the defense of the inmates of the Tuileries. The servants in the chateaux were very numerous, and were all picked men. There were also in garrison in Paris ten thousand troops of the line who were devoted to the king.

With such resources immediately at hand, and with nearly all the monarchies of Europe in alliance to march to their rescue, it is not surprising that the king and queen should have felt emboldened to brave the perils which surrounded them.[342] The Royalists were exultant, and already, in the provinces of La Vendée and on the Rhone, they had unfurled the white banner of the Bourbons, were rallying around it by thousands, and had commenced the slaughter of the patriots who, in these provinces, were in the minority.

Such was the state of affairs when the 14th of July arrived, the day for the great celebration of the demolition of the Bastille. The king and queen could not avoid participating in the ceremonies, though it was greatly feared that attempts might be made for their assassination. A breast-plate, in the form of an under waistcoat, was secretly made for the king, consisting of fifteen folds of Italian silk, strongly quilted, which was found, upon trial, to be proof against dagger or bullet. Madame Campan wore it for three days before an opportunity could be found for the king to try it on unperceived. The king, as he drew it on, said,

"It is to satisfy the queen that I submit to this inconvenience."

A corset of similar material was also prepared for the queen. She, however, refused to wear it, saying, "If the rebels assassinate me it will be a most happy event. It will release me from the most sorrowful existence, and may save from a cruel death the rest of the family."

The Field of Mars was the site for the festival. Eighty-three gorgeous tents were reared, representing the eighty-three departments of France. Before each of these was planted a tree of liberty, from the tops of which waved the tricolored banner. On one side of this vast parade-ground there was an immense tree planted, called the tree of feudalism. Its boughs were laden with memorials of ancient pride and oppression--blue ribbons, tiaras, cardinals' hats, St. Peter's keys, ermine, mantles, titles of nobility, escutcheons, coats of arms, etc. It was in the programme of the day that the king, after taking anew the oath of fidelity to the Constitution, was to set fire to the tree of feudalism with all its burden of hoary abuses.

The king and royal family joined the procession at the Tuileries, and with saddened hearts and melancholy countenances performed their part in the ceremonies. "The expression of the queen's countenance," says Madame de Staël, "on this day will never be effaced from my remembrance. Her eyes were swollen with tears, and the splendor of her dress and the dignity of her deportment formed a striking contrast with the train that surrounded her."

When the procession arrived at the Field of Mars, where an immense concourse was assembled, the queen took her station upon a balcony which was provided for her, while the king was conducted slowly through the almost impenetrable throng to the altar where the oath was to be administered. The queen narrowly and anxiously watched his progress with a glass. In ascending the altar the monarch took a false step, and seemed to fall. The queen, thinking he had been struck by a dagger, uttered a shriek of terror, which pierced the hearts of all around her. The king, however, ascended the altar, and took the oath.

The people wished him then to set fire to the feudal tree. But he declined, very pertinently remarking that there was no longer any feudalism in France. Some of the deputies of the Assembly then lighted the pile, and as it was wreathed in flames the shoutings of the multitude testified their joy. The partisans of the king succeeded in raising a few shouts of Vive le Roi, which lighted up a momentary smile upon the wan face of the king. But these were the last flickering gleams of joy. The royal family returned in deepest dejection to the palace. They were conscious that they had but performed the part of captives in gracing a triumph, and they never again appeared in the streets of Paris until they were led to their execution.

The alarming decree of the Assembly that the country was in danger, and the call for every man to arm, had thrown all France into commotion. The restless, violent, and irresponsible are ever the first to volunteer for war. These were rapidly organized in the departments into regiments and battalions, and sent on to Paris. Thus, notwithstanding the veto of the king, an immense force was fast gathering in the capital, and a force who felt that the king himself was the secret treacherous foe from whom they had the most to fear. The Assembly, dreading conspiracy at home more than open war from abroad, now sent the king's troops, upon whose fidelity to the nation they could not rely, to the frontiers. The court opposed this measure, as they did not wish to strengthen even the feeble resistance which they supposed the allies would have to encounter, and also wished to retain these troops for their own protection against any desperate insurrection of the people. The king consequently wished to interpose his veto, but was advised that he could not safely adopt that measure in the then exasperated state of the public mind. The removal of these troops very decidedly weakened the strength of the Royalists in Paris.

Such was the state of affairs on the 28th of July, when the allied army, amounting in its three great divisions to one hundred and thirty-eight thousand men, commenced its march upon France.

The Duke of Brunswick was to pass the Rhine at Coblentz, ascend the left bank of the Moselle, and march upon Paris by the route of Longwy, Verdun, and Chalons. His immense force of cavalry, infantry, and artillery, with its enormous array of heavy guns and its long lines of baggage and munition wagons, covered a space of forty miles. The Prince of Hohenlohe, marching in a parallel line some twenty miles on his left, led a division of the emigrants and the Hessian troops. His route led him through Thionville and Metz. The Count de Clairfayt, an Austrian field-marshal, who has been esteemed the ablest general opposed to the French during the Revolutionary war, conducted the Austrian troops and another division of the emigrants along other parallel roads upon the right, to fall upon La Fayette, who was stationed before Sedan and Mézieres. It was supposed that he would easily scatter the feeble forces which Louis XVI. had permitted to be stationed there; and then he was to press rapidly upon Paris by Rheims and Soissons.[343]

The friends of liberty now saw no possible way of rescuing France from its peril and of saving themselves from the scaffold, but by wresting the executive power from the king and the court, who were in co-operation with the foe. This could only be done by a revolution, for the Constitution conferred no right upon the Assembly to dethrone the king. The Girondists or moderate Republicans, detesting the Jacobins and appalled in view of the anarchy which would ensue from arming the mob of Paris, wished to have the Assembly usurp the power and dethrone the king. The Jacobins, who hoped to ride into authority upon the waves of popular tumult, deliberately resolved to demolish the throne by hurling against it the infuriate masses of the people. It was calling into action the terrible energies of the earthquake and the tornado, knowing that their ravages, once commenced, could be arrested by no earthly power.

The plan first formed was to rouse the people in resistless numbers, march upon the Tuileries, take the king a prisoner, and hold him in the Castle of Vincennes as a hostage for the good conduct of the emigrants and the allies. The appointed day came, and Paris was thrown into a state of terrible confusion. But the court had been admonished of the movement. The palace was strongly defended, and in consequence of some misunderstanding it was found that there was not sufficient concert of action to attempt the enterprise.

A new scheme was now formed, energetic and well-adapted to the effectual accomplishment of its purpose. At the ringing of the tocsin forty thousand men were to be marshaled in the faubourg St. Antoine. Another immense gathering of the populace was to rally in the faubourg St. Marceau. All the troops in the metropolis from the provinces were to be arrayed at the encampment of the Marseilles battalion. They were then to march simultaneously to the palace, fill the garden and the court of the Carrousel, and invest the Tuileries on all sides. Here they were to encamp with all the enginery of war, and fortify their position by ditches, barricades, and redoubts. No blood was to be shed. There was to be no assault upon the palace, and no forcible entry. The king was to be blockaded, and the Assembly was to be informed that the populace would not lay down their arms until the king was dethroned, and the Legislature had adopted measures to secure the safety of the country.[344] In this plan there was something generous and sublime. It endeavored to guard carefully against disorder, pillage, and blood. It was the majestic movement of the people rising in self defense against its own executive in combination with foreign foes. Barbaroux, the leader of the Marseillese, sketches this plan in pencil. It was copied by Fournier, and adopted by Danton and Santerre.[345]

Several of the leaders of the Girondists, anxious to avert the fearful crisis now impending, wrote a noble letter to the king containing considerations just and weighty, which ought to have influenced him to corresponding action. The letter was written by Vergniaud, Gaudet, and Gensonné, three of the brightest ornaments of the Legislative Assembly.

"It ought not to be dissembled," said these men to the king, "that it is the conduct of the executive power that is the immediate cause of all the evils with which France is afflicted, and of the dangers with which the throne is surrounded. They deceive the king who would lead him to suppose that it is the effervesence of the clubs, the manoeuvres of particular agitators and powerful factions that have occasioned and continued those disorderly movements, of which every day increases the violence, and of which no one can calculate the consequences. Thus to suppose is to find the cause of the evil in what are only the symptoms. The only way to establish the public tranquillity is for the king to surround himself with the confidence of his people. This can only be done by declaring, in the most solemn manner, that he will receive no augmentation of his power that shall not be freely and regularly offered him by the French nation without the assistance or interference of any foreign powers.

"What would be, perhaps, sufficient at once to re-establish confidence would be for the king to make the coalesced powers acknowledge the independence of the French nation, cease from all farther hostilities, and withdraw the troops that menace our frontiers. It is impossible that a very great part of the nation should not be persuaded that the king has it in his power to put an end to the coalition; and while that coalition continues and places the public liberty in a state of peril, it is in vain to flatter the king that confidence can revive."

The court regarded this letter as insolent, and the king returned an answer which declared that he should pay no attention whatever to its suggestions.

On the 30th of July the troops from Marseilles had arrived, five hundred in number, composed of the most fiery and turbulent spirits of the South. The clubs and journals and shouts of the people had for some time been demanding of the Assembly the suspension of the king. But the Assembly, restrained by respect for the Constitution, hesitated in the adoption of a measure so revolutionary and yet apparently so necessary. The insurrection now planned, unless it could be quelled by the king's forces, was sure to accomplish its end. If the Assembly did not in its consternation pronounce the throne vacant, or if the king did not in his terror abdicate, the whole royal family was to be held in a state of blockade, and it could not be disguised that they were in danger of falling victims to the rage of the ungovernable mob. This was the plan deliberately formed and energetically executed. It was patriotism's last and most terrible resort. Humanity is shocked by the measure. Yet we must not forget that foreign armies were approaching, and the king was in complicity with them, and thwarting all measures for effectual resistance. The court was organizing the partisans of the king to unite with the foreigners in all the horrors of civil war. A nation of twenty-five millions of freemen were again to be enslaved. All the patriots who had been instrumental in securing liberty for France were to be consigned to exile, the dungeon, and the scaffold. If ever a people were excusable in being thrown into a state of blind ungovernable fury, it was the people of France in view of such threats.

Paris was in this state of panic when the atrocious proclamation of the Duke of Brunswick reached the city. The king had sent a secret embassador, Mallet du Pan, to the allies, suggesting the tone of the manifesto he wished them to issue. Some of his suggestions they adopted, and added to them menaces as cruel and bloody as any deeds ever perpetrated by a mob.

"Their majesties," said the duke in this manifesto, "the emperor, and the king of Prussia, having intrusted me with the command of the combined armies, assembled by their orders on the frontiers of France, I am desirous to acquaint the inhabitants of that kingdom with the motives which have determined the measures of the two sovereigns, and the intentions by which they are guided."

He then stated that one object which the sovereigns had deeply at heart was "to put an end to the anarchy in the interior of France; to stop the attacks directed against the throne and the altar, to re-establish the regal power, to restore to the king the security and liberty of which he is deprived, and to place him in a condition to exercise the legitimate authority which is his due."

He then declared, in violation of all the rules of civilized warfare, that "such of the national guards as shall have fought against the troops of the two allied courts, and who shall be taken in arms, shall be punished as rebels against their king." This doomed every French patriot who should resist the invaders to be shot or hanged.

"The inhabitants of cities, towns, and villages," continued this savage declaration, "who shall dare to defend themselves against the troops of their imperial and royal majesties, and to fire upon them either in the open field or from their houses, shall be instantly punished with all the rigor of the laws of war, and their houses demolished or burned.

"The city of Paris and all its inhabitants without distinction, are required to submit immediately to the king, to set him at entire liberty, to insure to him, as well as to all the royal personages, the inviolability and respect which subjects owe their sovereigns. Their imperial and royal majesties hold the members of the National Assembly, of the department, of the district, of the municipality, and of the National Guard of Paris, the justices of the peace, and all others whom it may concern, personally responsible with their lives for all that may happen; their said majesties declaring, moreover, on their faith and word as emperor and king, that if the palace of the Tuileries is forced or insulted, that if the least violence, the least outrage is offered to their majesties the king and queen and to the royal family, if immediate provision is not made for their safety, their preservation, and their liberty, they will take an exemplary and ever-memorable vengeance, by giving up the city of Paris to military execution and total destruction, and the rebels guilty of outrages to the punishments they shall have deserved."[346]

This ferocious document was printed in all the Royalist papers in Paris on the 28th of July. The king immediately issued a message disavowing any agency in the manifesto. But the people no longer had any confidence in the word of the king. Paris was thrown into a state of terrible agitation. The forty-eight sections of Paris met, and commissioned the mayor, Pétion, to appear before the General Assembly, and petition, in their name, the dethronement of the king. On the 3d of August, Pétion, at the head of a numerous deputation, presented himself before the Assembly. In an address, calm, unimpassioned, but terrible in its severity, he retraced the whole course of the king from the commencement of the Revolution, and closed with the solemn demand for the dethronement of Louis XVI., as the most dangerous enemy of the nation. The Assembly was embarrassed by its desire to adhere to the Constitution which it had sworn to obey. The dethronement of the king was not a constitutional but a revolutionary act. A long and stormy debate ensued, during which the hall was flooded with petitions against the king. The king's friends were again intensely anxious to secure his escape. But the king would not listen to their plans, for he was so infatuated as to believe that the Duke of Brunswick would soon, by an unimpeded march, be in Paris for his rescue.

The sympathy which La Fayette had manifested for the royal family had now ruined him in the esteem of the populace. He was every where denounced as a traitor, and a strong effort was made to compel the Assembly to indite a bill of accusation against him. But La Fayette's friends in the chamber rallied, and he was absolved from the charge of treason by a vote of four hundred and forty-six against two hundred and eighty. The populace was so exasperated by this result that they heaped abuse upon all who voted in his favor, and several of them were severely maltreated by the mob. The National Assembly had now become unpopular. It was ferociously denounced in the club of the Jacobins and in all the corners of the streets. In the mean time the insurrectionary committee, formed from the Jacobin club, were busy in preparation for the great insurrection. All hearts were appalled, for all could see that a cloud of terrific blackness was gathering, and no one could tell what limit there would be to the ravages of the storm.

At midnight, on the 9th of August, the dismal sound of the tocsin was heard. From steeple to steeple the boding tones floated through the dark air. A thousand drums beat the alarm at the appointed rendezvous, and the booming of guns shook the city. In an hour all Paris was in tumult. The clatter of iron hoofs, the rumbling of heavy artillery, the tramp of disciplined battalions, and the rush and the clamor of a phrensied mob, presented the most appalling scene of tumult and terror. A city of a million and a half of inhabitants was in convulsions. The friends of the king hurried to the palace, announcing with pale lips that the terrible hour had come. The event needed no announcement, for the whole city was instantly trembling beneath earthquake throes. The king, the queen, the two children, and Madame Elizabeth had assembled tremblingly in one of the rooms of the palace, as lambs huddle together when wolves are howling round the fold. Marie Antoinette was imperially brave, but she could not in that hour look upon her helpless son and daughter and not feel her maternal heart sink within her. Louis XVI. had the endurance of a martyr, but he could not, unmoved, contemplate the woes of his family.

The friends of the king speedily rallied, and brought up all their forces for his defense. The apartments of the palace were filled with Royalist gentlemen armed with swords, pistols, and even with shovels and tongs. Nine hundred Swiss guards, upon whom it was thought reliance could be reposed, were placed on the stairs, in the halls, and the large saloons. Six or eight hundred mounted dragoons were in one of the court-yards. Several battalions of the National Guard, who were most friendly to the king, were stationed in the garden with twelve pieces of artillery.[347] The defenders of the palace amounted in all to about four or five thousand men. But many of these were very lukewarm in their loyalty, and might at any moment be expected to fraternize with the populace.[348]

Pétion, the mayor, was sent for. He came, and after an awkward interview retired, leaving Mandat, who was general-in-chief of the National Guard, commander of the troops at the Tuileries. It was a sultry night. Every window at the Tuileries was thrown open, and the inmates listened anxiously to the uproar which rose from every part of the city. The queen and Madame Elizabeth ascended to a balcony opening from one of the highest stories of the palace. The night was calm and beautiful, the moon brilliant in the west, and Orion and the Pleiades shining serenely in the east.[349] There the queen and the princess stood for some time, trembling and in silence as the peal of bells, the clangor of drums, the rumbling of artillery wheels, and the shouts of the advancing bands, filled the air. From every direction, the east, the west, the north and the south, the portentous booming of the tocsin was heard, and infuriated insurgents, in numbers which could not be counted, through all the streets and avenues, were pouring toward the palace. The bridges crossing the river echoed with their tread, while the blaze of bonfires and the gleam of torches added to the appalling sublimities of the scene.[350]

The queen broke the silence. Pointing to the moon she said, "Before that moon returns again, either the allies will be here and we shall be rescued, or I shall be no more. But let us descend to the king."

The spectacle seemed but to have aroused the energies of Marie Antoinette. The spirit of her imperial mother glowed in her bosom.[351] Her cheeks were pale as death, her lips were compressed, her eyes flashed fire, and, as she returned to the room where her husband stood bewildered and submissive to his lot, she approached a grenadier, drew a pistol from his belt, and, presenting it to her husband, said,

"Now, sire! now is the time to show yourself a king."

But Louis XVI. was a quiet, patient, enduring man, with nothing imperial in his nature. With the most imperturbable meekness he took the pistol and handed it back to the grenadier. The mayor, Pétion, an active member of the Jacobin Club, had manifested no disposition to render effectual aid in the defense of the palace. But lest it should seem that he was heading the mob, he had reluctantly signed an order, as he left the Tuileries, authorizing the employment of force to repel force.

The insurgents had organized an insurrectional committee at the Hôtel de Ville, and immediately sent a summons for Mandat to present himself before them. Mandat, misinformed, understood that the summons came from the municipal government, and, as in duty bound, promptly obeyed. He had hardly left the palace ere word was brought back to the king that he had been assassinated by the mob. There was no longer any leader at the palace; no one to organize the defense; no one to issue commands. The soldiers in the court of the Tuileries and in the Garden were looking listlessly about and bandying jokes with the mob who were crowding against the iron railing.[352]

It was, however, now decided that the king should descend into the courts of the Carrousel, in the rear of the palace, and into the Garden, in front, to review the troops and ascertain the spirit with which they were animated.

The king was very fat, had an awkward hobbling gait, and a countenance only expressive of a passionless nature. He was dressed in a plain mourning-suit, with silk stockings, and buckles in his shoes. His dress was quite disarranged. In the early part of the night he had thrown himself upon a sofa for rest, and thus his hair, which was powdered and curled on one side, was without powder and in disorder on the other. Apprehensive that he might be assassinated before morning, he had spent some time in devotional exercises with his confessor, and his cheeks deathly pale, his swollen eyes and his trembling lips, plainly showed that he had been weeping. Thus he presented the aspect but of a king in his degradation. Had he been a spirited man, in uniform, mounted on horseback, he might, perhaps, have rallied the enthusiasm of the troops. As it was he could excite no other emotion than that of compassion, blended, perhaps, with contempt.

It was five o'clock of one of the most brilliant of summer mornings as the king, followed by the queen and his children, and accompanied by six staff officers, descended the marble stairs of the Tuileries and entered the royal court. The music of martial bands greeted him, the polished weapons of the soldiers gleamed in the rays of the sun as they presented arms, and a few voices rather languidly shouted Vive le Roi. Others, however, defiantly shouted Vive la Nation, thus showing that many of those who were marshaled for his defense were ready to unite with his assailants. The king stammered out a few incoherent words and returned to the palace.

The appearance of the queen in this terrible hour riveted every eye and excited even the enthusiasm of her foes. Her flushed cheek, dilated nostril, compressed lip, and flashing eye invested her with an imperial beauty almost more than human. Her head was erect, her carriage proud, her step dignified, and she looked around her upon applauding friends and assailing foes with a majesty of courage which touched every heart. Even the most ardent patriots forgot for the moment their devotion to liberty in the enthusiasm excited by the heroism of the queen. Re-entering the palace, the queen, in despair, ascended the stairs to the saloon, saying,

"All is lost. The king has shown no energy. A review like this has done us more harm than good."

The king, however, instead of ascending to his apartment, passed through the palace into the Garden to ascertain the disposition of the troops stationed there. With his small retinue he traversed the whole length of the Garden. Some of the battalions received him with applause, others were silent, while here and there voices in continually increasing numbers cried, "Down with the veto; down with the tyrant." As the king turned to retrace his steps, menaces and insults were multiplied. Some of the gunners even left their guns and thrust their fists in his face, assailing him with the most brutal abuse. The clamor penetrated the interior of the palace and the queen, turning pale as death, sank into a chair, exclaiming,

"Great God! they are hooting the king. We are all lost."

The king returned to the palace, pale, exhausted, perspiring at every pore, and overwhelmed with confusion and shame. He immediately retired to his cabinet. Roederer,[353] chief magistrate of the Department of the Seine, who had witnessed the hostile disposition of the troops, now hastened to the chateau and asked permission to speak to his majesty in private, with no witnesses but the royal family. He entered the royal cabinet and found the king with his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his hands. All retired but the royal family and the king's ministers.

"Sire," said M. Roederer, "you have not a moment to lose. Neither the number nor the disposition of the men here assembled can guarantee your life or the lives of your family. There is no safety for you but in the bosom of the Assembly."

The hall of the Assembly was in the old monastery of the Feuillants, situated on the western side of the Garden, where the Rue de Rivoli now runs. The royal family could consequently descend into the Garden, which was filled with troops collected there for their defense, and crossing the Garden could enter the hall with but little exposure.

But such a refuge to the high-spirited queen was more dreadful than death. It was draining the cup of humiliation to its dregs.

"Go to the Assembly!" exclaimed the queen; "never! never will I take refuge there. Rather than submit to such infamy I would prefer to be nailed to the walls of the palace."

"It is there only," M. Roederer replied, "that the royal family can be in safety. And it is necessary to escape immediately. In another quarter of an hour, perhaps, we shall not be able to command a retreat."

"What," rejoined the queen, "have we no defenders? Are we alone?"

"Yes, madame," replied Roederer, "we are alone. The troops in the Garden and in the court are fraternizing with your assailants and turning their guns against the palace. All Paris is on the march. Action is useless. Resistance is impossible."

A gentleman present, who had been active in promoting reform, ventured to add his voice in favor of an immediate retreat to the Assembly. The queen turned upon him sternly, and said,

"Silence, sir, silence! It becomes you to be silent here. When the mischief is done, those who did it should not pretend to wish to remedy it."[354]

M. Roederer resumed, saying, "Madame, you endanger the lives of your husband and your children. Think of the responsibility which you take upon yourself."

The king raised his head, fixed a vacant stare of anguish for a moment on M. Roederer, and then, rising, said, "Marchons" (Let us go).

The queen, unable any longer to shut her eyes to the fatality, turning to M. Roederer, eagerly added, "You, sir, are answerable for the life of the king and for that of my son."

"Madame," M. Roederer replied, "we undertake to die by your side, but that is all we can promise." It was then eight o'clock in the morning.

A guard of soldiers was instantly called in, and the melancholy cortège left the palace. The Swiss troops and the loyalist gentlemen, who filled the apartments, looked on in consternation and despair. There was no apparent escape for them, and they seemed to be abandoned to their fate. As the king was crossing the threshold he thought of his friends, and his heart seemed to misgive him. He hesitated, stopped, and, turning to M. Roederer, said, "What is to become of our friends who remain behind?" M. Roederer pacified the king by assuring him, though falsely, that by throwing aside their arms and their uniform they would be able to escape in safety.

They then entered the Garden and crossed it, unopposed, between the two files of bayonets. The leaves of autumn strewed the paths, and the young dauphin amused himself in kicking them as he walked along. It is characteristic of the mental infirmities of the king that in such an hour he should have remarked, "There are a great many leaves. They fall early this year."

When they arrived at the door at the foot of the staircase which led to the hall of the Assembly, they found an immense crowd of men and women there blocking up the entrance. "They shall not enter here," was the cry; "they shall no longer deceive the nation. They are the cause of all our misfortunes. Down with the veto! Down with the Austrian woman! Abdication or death!"

"Sire," said one, in compassionate tones to the king, "Don't be afraid. The people are just. Be a good citizen, sire, and send the priests and your wife away from the palace."

The soldiers endeavored to force their way through the crowd, and, in the struggle, the members of the royal family were separated from each other. A stout grenadier seized the dauphin and raised him upon his shoulders. The queen, terrified lest her child was to be taken from her, uttered a piercing shriek. But the grenadiers pressed forward through the crowd, and, entering the hall with the king and queen, placed the prince royal on the table of the Assembly.

The illustrious Girondist M. Vergniaud was in the chair. The king approached him and said,

"I have come hither to prevent a great crime. I thought I could not be safer than with you."

"You may rely, sire," Vergniaud replied, "on the firmness of the Assembly. Its members have sworn to die in supporting the rights of the people and the constituted authority."

The king took his seat. There were but few members present. A mournful silence pervaded the hall as the deputies, with saddened countenances and sympathetic hearts, gazed upon the king, the queen, Madame Elizabeth, the beautiful young princess, and the dauphin, whom the queen held by the hand. All angry feelings died in presence of the melancholy spectacle, for all felt that a storm was now beating against the throne which no human power could allay.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 340: La Fayette's Memoirs.

"M. de La Fayette seemed not to have been quite discouraged by the ill-success of his former embassy; for on the 10th of July M. de Lally came to me with a long letter written by M. La Fayette from his army, in which he drew a plan, ready as he said, for execution, to open the way for the king through his enemies, and to establish him in safety either in Compiègne or in the north part of France, surrounded by his constitutional guards and his faithful army,"--Bertrand de Moleville.]

[Footnote 341: "That there should be no more sympathy," says Professor Smyth, "expressed by the king or the Royalists ever after, with the elevated nature of the principles of La Fayette or the steadiness of his loyalty, whenever he saw, as he thought, the king in danger, is quite intolerable; and there are no occasions on which the royal party appear to so little advantage as when it is desirable that they should show some little candor, some common justice to La Fayette."--Lectures on French Revolution, vol. ii., p. 298.]

[Footnote 342: History of the Girondists, Lamartine, vol. ii., p. 36.]

[Footnote 343: "Russia and England secretly approved the attacks of the European league, without as yet co-operating with it."--Mignet, p. 142. The British government were at this time restrained from active measures by the British people, the great mass of whom sympathized with the French in their struggle for liberty.]

[Footnote 344: "The chiefs," says Bertrand do Moleville, "of the Gironde faction, who had planned the insurrection, did not, at that time, intend to overset the monarchy. Their design was to dethrone the king, make the crown pass to his son, and establish a council of regency."]

[Footnote 345: Lamartine's History of the Girondists, vol. 2, p. 40. Barbaroux, one of the most active of the leaders in this movement, "a man of genius, fine affections, and noble sentiments," in his memoirs writes, "It was our wish that this insurrection in the cause of liberty should be majestic as is Liberty herself; holy as are the rights which she alone can ensure, and worthy to serve as an example to every people, who, to break the chains of their tyrants, have only to show themselves."]

[Footnote 346: "The greatest sensation was produced in our own country of Great Britain, and all over Europe, by a manifesto like this, which went in truth to say, that two military powers were to march into a neighboring and independent kingdom to settle the civil dissensions there as they thought best, and to punish by military law, as rebels and traitors, all who presumed to resist them. No friend to freedom or the general rights of mankind could, for a moment, tolerate such a procedure as this. Even the success of the Jacobins and Anarchists was thought preferable to the triumph of invaders like these."--Prof. Smyth's Lectures on the Fr. Rev., vol. ii., p. 326.]

[Footnote 347: The Garden of the Tuileries includes an area of about sixty-seven acres. A whole army could encamp there.]

[Footnote 348: One of the officers of the staff said to Madame Campan, in the midst of this scene of terror and confusion, "Put your jewels and money into your pockets. Our dangers are unavoidable. The means of defense are unavailing. Safety might be obtained from some degree of energy in the king; but that is the only virtue in which he is deficient."--Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 240.]

[Footnote 349: Roederer, Chronique de Cinquante Jours.]

[Footnote 350: "List! through the placid midnight; clang of the distant storm-bell. Steeple after steeple takes up the wondrous tale. Black courtiers listen at the windows opened for air; discriminate the steeple-bells. This is the tocsin of St. Roch; that, again, is it not St. Jaques, named de la Boucherie? Yes, messieurs! or even St. Germain l'Auxerrois, hear ye it not? The same metal that rang storm two hundred and twenty years ago; but by a majesty's order then; on St. Bartholomew's Eve!"--Carlyle, vol. ii., p. 138.]

[Footnote 351: "The behavior of Marie Antoinette was magnanimous in the highest degree. Her majestic air, her Austrian lip and aquiline nose, gave her an air of dignity which can only be conceived by those who beheld her in that trying hour."--Peltier.]

[Footnote 352: Where the iron railing now stands which separates the spacious court of the Tuileries from the Carrousel, so called because Louis XIV., in 1662, held a great tournament here, there were, in 1792, rows of small houses and sheds. The court was then divided by railings into three divisions. The central one, which was rather larger than the others, was called the Cour Royale. The king's troops were stationed in these courts, while the insurgents were filling the Carrousel. These court-yards, now thrown into one, afforded Napoleon ample space for the review of his troops.]

[Footnote 353: M. Roederer, a constitutional monarchist, was one of the most illustrious men of the Revolution. Denounced by the Jacobins he was compelled, like La Fayette, to seek refuge in flight. Upon Napoleon's return from Egypt he aided effectually in rescuing France from anarchy, and in establishing the Consulate and the Empire. He co-operated cordially with the Emperor in his plans of reform, was the chief instrument in concluding a treaty between France and the United States, and took a large share in the regeneration of the Kingdom of Naples by Joseph Bonaparte. When Napoleon fell beneath the blows of allied Europe, Roederer, in sadness, withdrew to retirement.--Enc. Am.]

[Footnote 354: Madame Campan, vol. ii., p. 274, note.]

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